


Turn it into Glory

by miserylovedme



Series: Where the Light Never Reaches [2]
Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4308807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miserylovedme/pseuds/miserylovedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>William is quiet for a long time before he steps forward and gently pulls Cash’s hands from his own throat and brushes gentle fingertips over the flushed skin. “You think because you were made last that you don’t matter. That you’re less of me because I didn’t choose you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn it into Glory

**Author's Note:**

> I once used to write in bandom on lj under this name. Nothing has been edited since this work was originally posted, so please forgive any errors or potential grammar mistakes. decided to move the few stories worth keeping over here and delete my lj. If you used to read me back there, hello, again!
> 
> This story was coauthored with lj user: riflethrough. I have tried, to no avail, to locate her, and add her on as a coauthor here. If you know where I can contact her, or you are her, please let me know. I'd love to catch up!
> 
> Original post date: 8.16.08

Cash takes the singer of the band up on his advice, ignoring Ian's snickering and making his way through the groups of people to the merch booth against the wall. And there the singer is, surrounded by several girls and a couple guys. He's all smiles, quick to laugh, hand often going to tuck his own hair behind his ear.

Cash feels strange, absolutely strange. Slightly shaky, sucking his own lower lip into his mouth. If his heart was still affected he's sure it'd be racing, banging against his ribcage.

Finally, some of the crowd dissipates, kids heading home for the night, or maybe just to another party. Cash steps forward and the singer turns, smiling.

"Hi," he says, brightly.

"Hi," Cash says.

The singer looks at him, fingers tucking his hair back behind his ear again, where Cash knows it'll just fall forward again sooner or later. It's nice hair, soft curls, almost golden when the stage lights hit it. He wonders how strange it'd be for him to reach out and touch.

The singer coughs then laughs a little. "So," he says, raising his eyebrows. Cash smiles back at him. "Can I sign anything for you?"

Cash almost blushes because, yeah, he's just been standing here, staring. He should probably say something.

"Oh, uh. No, I'm good," he says. The singer nods.

"I really liked your set," he blurts.

The singer grins. "Yeah? Cool, I'm glad. You ever seen us before?" 

He looks over the singer's shoulders, at the t-shirts hanging. He can't even remember the name of the band, just that he'd been taken in by the singer's voice.

"I'd heard about you guys before," he lies. "But I've never really listened to your music."

"Well, that's still good to hear," the singer says. "New fans are awesome."

"Awesome," Cash agrees.

"I'm Alex," the singer says, holding out his hand. Cash takes it, not before wiping his palm on his jeans in a way that he hopes is discrete.

"Really?" Cash asks, voice stupidly high. God, what's wrong him?

The singer—Alex laughs, fingers squeezing around Cash's hand. "You don't like the name or something?"

"Oh no, no, that's not it," Cash rushes to say. "It's just, my best friend. His name's Alex, too."

Alex's mouth twists. "And my drummer's name is Alex." He smiles again. "You can call me Singer, if it's weird for you."

Cash nods, biting his lip. "Maybe I will."

"Sometimes we call our drummer Drummer, but mostly by his last name." Singer bites his own lip. "And your name is?"

"Right, yeah," Cash says. "My name's Cash."

"Cash," he laughs. "Wow, haven't really heard that before. It's cool."

Cash grins, realizing about a second later that their hands are still clasped. He lets go, reluctantly. Singer's face doesn't betray anything, but Cash thinks, hopes, that maybe he's a little slow to let go too.

Singer shoves his hands in pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet a little. "You came by yourself?"

"No, with some friends," Cash says, pointing back over his shoulder. He doesn't look away from Singer as he does it.

Singer glances past Cash's shoulder, says, "Yeah, I saw you." He blushes. "I mean."

Cash can't help the way he laughs a little, can't help the way he feels more than a little delighted at Singer's words. Then a guy is passing close behind Singer, tugging on the ends of his hair as he walks by. Singer ducks his head.

"Time to go," the guy says, already half way out the door.

Singer frowns a little, looking after the guy. He turns back to Cash. He nods his head in the direction of the back door, says, "I guess I have to go now."

Cash hopes how disappointed he feels doesn't show on his face, he really, really hopes not. Because that would be embarrassing. He tries to smile. "Got an afterparty to crash? Casinos to hit up?"

Singer laughs at that, shaking his head. "Something like that. We promised a friend of ours we wouldn't miss his party," he says. He wrinkles his nose. "And I don't think I'd be able to hit up any casinos. I'm only seventeen."

Cash blanches. "Seventeen?"

Singer cocks an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Oh," Cash says, faintly. "You didn't look that young."

Singer brightens. "Really? Usually, I get a lot of girls calling me baby, and stuff. How old are you?"

"Uh," Cash says. "Nineteen."

Singer nods. He bites his lips again, before his brow furrows, and he looks determined. "Hey," says. He digs into his pocket, struggling to remove what looks like a marker. His jeans are pretty tight, Cash can't help but notice. He also takes out a mostly clean napkin, scribbles something on it.

"Here," he says, shoving it into Cash's hand. Cash looks down at it for a second, then grins. "My number," he says, unnecessarily.

"Thanks," he says, pocketing it.

Singer caps the marker, twirls it between his fingers, and Cash has to admit that he's a little charmed at the splash of red across the kid's cheeks.

"So, yeah," Singer says. "I have to go."

"All right," Cash nods. "See you 'round."

Singer looks up at him through his lashes, smiling a little, and then he's walking away. Cash watches him go.

"Well, well," William says, appearing at Cash's side.

"Well, well," Gabriel also says. They both smirk at Cash.

Cash rolls his eyes. "Mind your own business," he says.

"We should be going now anyway," William says, arm around Gabriel's waist. They begin walking in the direction of the exit, towards the parking lot.

Cash tucks a hand into his jeans, fingers rubbing over the napkin with Singer's number on it. Marshall is looking at him when he glances up, expression unreadable. But he smiles. Cash smiles back.

"Where's Ian?"

Marshall waves a hand vaguely in the direction to the left of Cash. "He ran outside, for a second."

Cash's eyebrows raise, and he's just about to ask what for, when Ian drops his hands onto Cash's shoulders from behind. Cash doesn't jump, but he does try to kick Ian in the shin for trying to make him jump.

Ian just laughs, stepping away lightly. "Where's your new friend, Cash?"

"What new friend?" He can already see that Ian, and at least Gabriel, are going to tease him about this. The fuckers.

Ian looks at him reproachfully, head tilting. "Now, now. You don't have to lie. These new feelings can be alarming at first, but there's nothing to be embarrassed about."

Cash huffs out an annoyed breath, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. He can hear Marshall laugh a little, maybe slap at Ian's shoulder.

"Leave him alone," Marshall warns, but he's still smiling at Ian. Ian smiles back, pulling him close. They look like they might start making out on the spot. Cash rolls his eyes again.

"Let's go," he says, heading after William and Gabriel. The place is mostly empty by now, only a few stragglers left.

"Ooh, touchy," he can hear Ian say behind him. He decides to ignore it.

 

\--

 

They’ve still got hours of darkness when they get back to their loft; William and Gabriel go back out.

Ian pulls his shirt off and sniffs it. “I reek,” he says, pecking Marshall on the lips. “Gonna shower.” It sounds like an invite and Marshall smiles, making Ian grin. He turns away and Marshall almost follows but he catches sight of Cash, sitting on the couch, staring down at his thighs.

“I’ll be right there,” he says. Ian glances over at Cash and nods, heading for their bedroom.

Marshall walks over slowly, dropping down beside Cash, leaving a little space between them.

“Are you all right?”

Cash looks up but not at Marshall. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Cash wants to stick his hand in his pocket, curl his fingers around the napkin with Singer’s number scrawled on it, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t move other than to lean his head back against the couch and sigh.

Marshall bumps his knee against Cash’s. “That guy you talked to have anything to do with this?”

Cash looks over and just stares at him; Marshall stares back, undeterred. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” he says at length.

Marshall snorts and scoots closer, squirming an arm behind Cash’s back to settle on his waist. “I hope you don’t honestly think you’re buying me off with that.”

Cash sighs, looking back up at the ceiling. He chews at his bottom lip for a while, thinking of how best to actually explain. Finally he settles on, “He’s seventeen.”

“Oh,” Marshall says quietly, fingers pulling up on Cash’s shirt until he’s able to press the tips against Cash’s side. Cash shifts a little but doesn’t move into or away from the touch. He doesn’t volunteer anything further. “It couldn’t hurt to talk to him,” Marshall continues after a while.

Cash shakes his head, laughing a little, sounding bitter. “Seventeen, Marshall. What does that make me? Forty times older than him?”

“More like fifteen,” Marshall mumbles, leaning in further to rest his cheek against Cash’s shoulder. “Why does this guy suddenly have such an impact?” Marshall asks.

“Because in two hundred years I haven’t so much as looked at anyone besides you. Why should I now?”

Marshall looks guilty, he avoids Cash’s eyes and Cash turns slightly to face him easier. “I’ve given you everything I can, Cash,” Marshall says quietly, his cheeks slightly pink as he brings his hand up to rub unconsciously at the scar on his neck.

Cash turns Marshall’s gaze back to his own. “I didn’t mean that.” Cash sighs. “I just never really let myself think about it as being alone before.”

Marshall’s wide eyes blink slowly at him. He rolls his lips inward in thought before leaning in to bump Cash’s forehead with his own. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I’m not. Not really.”

“Ian and I can’t give you what you need,” Marshall practically whispers, and Cash feels his chest tighten. Marshall presses a kiss to the side of his head.

“I know.”

Cash pulls away, leaning forward and Marshall follows. “I’m going to shower,” he says, reaching down and squeezing Cash’s hand. He waits for Cash to look at him before he continues. “Come to our room.”

“Marshall, I don’t—” Marshall kisses him silent and Cash grips his hand until he pulls away.

“I want you to.”

Cash clears his throat but his voice is still thick and heavy when he says, “All right.”

 

\--

 

It’s three days later that his phone rings while Ian is killing Cash in a first person shooter and William’s voice sings from the kitchen, “Cassius, it’s for you, my love.”

Cash takes a headshot and throws his controller down. Any excuse to not lose by twenty deaths is all right with him.

Ian calls after him, “Pussy!”

Gabriel is sitting on the counter, William leaning back between his legs, holding out Cash’s cell. Cash unconsciously pats down his pockets. Huh. He doesn’t remember leaving it anywhere and the smirk on Gabriel’s face isn’t helping the suspicion tightening his belly.

He takes his phone and Gabriel leans down to kiss the side of William’s head and then his mouth. William moans daintily and Cash rolls his eyes. “You two are sick,” he says before pressing the speaker to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey, this is Alex—Singer.” Cash almost drops the phone.

“Hey,” he says, voice shaky all of a sudden. He glares at William as he grins, fingers light on Gabriel’s forearm which is wrapped around his chest. He instantly heads out of the room; he can’t do this if anyone can hear.

There’s an awkward pause before Singer continues. “So it’s been like three days and you haven’t called me, so I figure you either lost my number or you didn’t want to talk to me in the first place.”

Cash practically swallows his own tongue. “No, seriously, I just—how’d you get my number?”

Cash imagines Singer is blushing from the tone of his voice. “Your friend gave it to me. He said you weren’t gonna call me back so I should call you.”

There’s a moment where Cash thinks Ian and death before he thinks he needs to say thank you. Cash laughs a little. “I’m sure he worded it like that too.”

Singer laughs. “He might’ve called you a pussy.”

“Figures,” Cash says, coughing a little. “He’s kinda right.”

“So you weren’t just ignoring me then.” Singer is smiling, Cash can hear it. It makes him smile too.

“Not on purpose, no. Just… not that good at initiating.”

“Me either,” Singer says. “So, I was thinking, you probably aren’t going to ask me out—to hang out,” he corrects quickly and Cash’s palms start to sweat, “either. So, if you wanted to, there’s this restaurant that has really awesome, greasy cheeseburgers just off the Strip. You wanna meet me there in an hour?”

Cash glances around. All of the windows are covered with blackout curtains, they take absolutely no chances with the sunlight, but Cash knows that it’s earlier than they should be up. Cash bites his lip.

He must hesitate for longer than he thought because Singer clears his throat and says, “Or you know, later, tomorrow or something if you don’t—if you’ve got plans or whatever.”

“No,” Cash says far too quickly. “Just, um, maybe… yeah, an hour’s good.” Cash rubs the back of his head. “Where’s this place?”

 

\--

 

The restaurant he meets Singer at is small, a friendly family owned place that's nearly filled with people. Cash tries not to make a face at the strong smell of food and burnt meat. He finds Singer in a booth along the wall.

He slides in across from Singer. "Hey," he grins.

Singer grins back just as widely. "Hey. I'm glad you came."

A waiter appears at their table, dropping menus onto the top before telling them he'll be back soon to take their orders. Cash opens his own, trying not to wince at the thought of choking down some solid food. Singer looks ecstatic as he opens his own menu.

"God, they really do have the best burgers ever here," he says. "They're going to be the death of me, but I'll be too busy chowing down to notice, you know?"

Cash laughs, says, "Yeah, sure."

"You've never been here before, right? You should try one, man."

Cash pushes his menu to the side in favor of sliding a salt shaker across the tabletop, back and forth between his hands. "Actually, I'm a vegetarian," he lies. He can't imagine attempting to swallow down one of the huge burgers pictured on the front of the laminated menu. "I'll just order something like a salad."

Singer's mouth drops open. "Why didn't you say anything on the phone?" He sounds horrified. "Why the hell did you let me take you to burger joint? Oh god, this must be horrible for you."

Cash's eyes widen. "Hey, it's cool, it's not that big a deal."

Singer doesn't seem to hear him. "I've screwed this up already."

"Hey, hey," Cash says, reaching across the table to grab Singer's hand. "It's okay, promise. I don't mind."

"We can leave," Singer says.

"We can stay," Cash says. "I'd have said something over the phone if it bothered me, don't you think?"

Singer slumps a little. "I guess," he says.

"Okay, then," Cash says. He squeezes Singer's hand and, after a moment, Singer turns his hand over under Cash's, squeezes back. He smiles tentatively, and Cash feels bad about the lying, but he'll probably be lying even more before the night is out. It's just a necessity.

Then Cash is taking his hand back as the waiter appears again. They order, and Cash frowns at his food, mostly pushing it around the plate. Singer must notice because he shoots a few looks at Cash then his plate, but he doesn't say anything.

"So," Cash says, only a little awkwardly. "How long has Vegas Skies been together?"

"Oh," Singer says, practically lighting up at the mention of his band. "Only a year, but it's pretty cool. I mean, it seems like it could be something. To me, at least." He shrugs, picking up a tomato slice from the plate and dropping into his mouth. Cash's eyes drop to his throat before he forces them back to his plate.

"No, yeah, I get what you're saying. Your voice, I really love it." Cash stabs a lettuce leaf, twirling around the plate.

Singer smiles slowly. "Thanks," he says, softly.

Cash clears his throat. "Did you sing before the band?"

"No, actually. Alex, our drummer, he started this but didn't have a singer." Singer shrugs again. "He heard me singing one day, just goofing around, but he said he wanted me to sing for them."

"That's cool," Cash says.

"Yeah, I know." Singer takes another huge bite of his burger. "If we ever get a record deal, we're totally celebrating here."

Cash laughs a little. "Bring guys here often?" he teases.

Singer nearly chokes, says, "No, um. No, not at all, honestly."

Cash gets that feeling again, that stupid nagging, guilty feeling when he thinks about how many years are between them. He pushes it aside.

"Really," he says, making sure to grin playfully at Singer. "I'm glad to be the first, then." 

Singer ducks his head a little. "Me too," he says, grinning back.

 

\--

 

After Singer is done eating, and Cash is done pretending to eat, they head out, walking a whole block before they get to Singer's car.

Once they're inside, buckled and ready to go, Singer says, "Hey, how'd you get here anyway?"

Cash had walked, run, some of the ten miles it took to get there. "Friend dropped me off," he answers. "Where are we going?"

"Oh," Singer says. He places his hands at two and ten on the wheel, sitting up straight. "Was there anywhere you wanted to go? Movie you wanted to catch?"

Cash thinks, shaking his head. "Just want to hang out with you," he says, only feeling stupid after the words are out of his mouth.

Singer faces forward, grinning at the windshield. "All right," he says, but doesn't tell him where they're going.

They drive and drive, until eventually they stop at a park. It's at the top of an incline, allowing them to park and look at the tops of the surrounding suburbs and, past that, the lights of the city. It's kind of nice.

"This is kind of nice," Cash says aloud, if only to calm Singer, who looks too nervous, chewing on his lips, hand pushing at his hair.

 

Singer nods, says, "Yeah." And that's all.

"Hey," Cash says, soft. "Don't freak out."

Singer huffs a laugh. "I'm not."

"Are you sure?" Cash asks, smile playing about his mouth as he raises his eyebrows at Singer. "You look like it."

"I'm fine," Singer says. "I just—I'm not sure what I'm doing." He doesn't look away from the view in front of him, from the steering wheel, as he says it. It makes a nervous sort of feeling appear in Cash's stomach, his chest.

Finally, "Come here," Cash says quietly. Singer looks at him quickly, breath coming a little faster already. Cash can hear his heartbeat, fast and loud, can smell the nervous anticipation on him.

Singer turns in his seat, leaning over the console. Cash doesn't pull him closer, doesn't lean forward much himself, letting Singer be the one to make their mouths meet.

Cash doesn’t close his eyes until Singer’s lips touch his. He pulls back almost instantly to lick them and lean in again. His mouth slides against Cash’s and Cash brings a hand up to the back of Singer’s neck, pressing back gently.

Singer is the one to brush his tongue against Cash’s lower lip, open his mouth and slide it over the edge of Cash’s teeth. He pulls back, however, when Cash meets it.

Cash opens his eyes, watches as Singer wipes both hands on his thighs. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Never done this.” His face is flushed and Cash couldn’t feel any more guilty at the fact that the idea turns him on more than anything else.

Cash hesitates, reaching out and pressing his palm against Singer’s neck, rubbing his thumb along the sharp edge of his jaw. “I haven’t really either. Not much, I mean.”

Singer laughs a little, cheeks flushed. “More than me.”

He looks as nervous as Cash feels and yeah, okay, he can do this. “Come here,” Cash says, pulling Singer in again, pressing their lips together again and this time when Cash pushes his tongue into Singer’s mouth, he responds with a small, breathy whimper that makes Cash harden in his jeans. “Come here,” he mumbles again, pulling gently at Singer’s arm until he crawls over the console and into Cash’s lap.

He laughs a little, heart rate picking up, pounding fast and hard in his chest and Cash bites back a groan. “I thought this only happened in movies,” Singer says, resting both hands on Cash’s shoulders and leaning in to kiss him again.

“Really good ones,” Cash mumbles.

Cash places his hands on Singer's hip and thigh, tilting his head up so that their mouths are better angled together. Their tongues touch, and Singer seems to be getting a little braver, enough so that he presses a hot hand to the side of Cash's neck and slides his tongue against Cash's.

Cash eases one hand up Singer's thigh, up, and covers his waist. He wants to slide his hand up Singer's shirt, feel that hot, smooth skin against his palm. He settles for pressing light fingertips against the skin just above Singer's waistband.

Singer jerks slightly, breaking the kiss. Cash makes a questioning sound, trying to follow Singer's mouth. Singer laughs, kissing him again. "Fingers're cold," he murmurs into the kiss.

Cash grins, sliding his hand up to press his whole palm to the skin at the small of Singer's back. His hand warms against Singer's skin quickly, and Cash laughs a little at the way he hisses.

"Sorry," Cash whispers, before licking into Singer's mouth again, though he's really not at all. His other hand comes up the tangle in Singer's hair.

Singer groans when Cash pulls his head back by the hair, sucking Singer’s lower lip into his mouth. Singer’s breathing picks up, panting against Cash’s forehead.

Cash holds him up, urging him to his knees, to spread his thighs further to get them closer. Singer rubs up against his stomach and Cash bites his chin. Singer is hard.

“Here,” Singer mumbles, pulling back and leaning over. He lifts the lever, pushing the seat back enough for him to settle easily in Cash’s lap. 

Cash has a hard time not asking if he’s sure he hasn’t done this before, but he keeps it back, pulls Singer in closer until they’re pressed together from chest to thigh; Singer straddling his waist.

Cash rubs at his back. Singer is so warm. He arches his hips, rubbing himself against Singer, groaning as he does so. “Yeah,” he says, clasping Singer’s hips in both hands. And he never really appreciated before just how slim his waist is, how sharp his hipbones are. He dips both hands down, palming Singer’s ass and pushing him forward into Cash’s thrust.

Singer’s moan is sweet in his ear.

Cash squeezes a little, fingers digging in, before he drags them up, pushing Singer's shirt up higher. He wonders if it'd be too much, breaking the kiss to pull Singer's shirt over his head.

He forgets to do so when Singer pushes his hips down, cocks rubbing together far too lightly for Cash's tastes. Singer pulls away a little, frowning as he pushes down again, breath puffing as he tries to grind against Cash. Cash has to push his own hips off the seat, pulling Singer's down to meet him for it to be really good. They both groan at the feel, and it's almost too much, rough denim against his cock, but he can't bring himself to pull away for even the little amount of time it would take to yank their jeans down.

Singer sinks his teeth into Cash's lower lip, the licks over the same spot, and Cash hums a little. Singer is squirming against him, trying for more friction, and god, it's so hot. He places a hand over Singer's neck, feeling his pulse flutter against his palm, and Cash has to actually focus for a second, to not make his fangs descend.

Cash rolls his hips up, and Singer pushes down at the right moment. Cash has to bite his lip to keep in all the sounds he wants to make. He thinks he should probably be embarrassed by how fast this is going, he doesn't have any excuses like virginity on his side, but Singer smells so good, and is making the sweetest noises against his mouth, and he wonders how anyone can last against that.

"Hey," Cash says, low, breaking the kiss. He licks the taste of Singer off his lips, loving the way Singer's eyes drop to his mouth. "We should get into the back, there's more room to move there."

Singer looks dazed, mouth red and eyes hazy, but he nods. He says, "Yeah, okay."

Cash only hits his head twice, climbing into the backseat. Singer is nice enough not to laugh, only moving carefully over the console and trying not to knee Cash when he straddles him again. There's only a second for Cash to grin up at him before Singer is pushing against him again, leaning down to press, slide their mouths together.

Cash grabs both of Singer’s upper arms as he leans down over him, tongue pushing into Cash’s mouth. Cash grinds up and Singer pulls back dropping down to brace himself with both of his forearms on either side of Cash’s head. His sweaty cheek brushes Cash’s before he moves lower to suck at Cash’s neck.

There’s a brief moment of panic when Cash realizes Singer is trying to give him a hickey—a hickey—because there is no way it will work; his skin won’t react, but he doesn’t pull away. It feels amazing to have someone working on his throat.

Cash drops his hands, grabs Singer’s hips and pushes him back against Cash’s lap. He’s still so fucking hard.

Singer twists away, hands going for Cash’s shirt, tugging at it. “Up, take it off,” Singer pants. Cash shifts, allowing the fabric to be pulled up and off of him. Singer takes a moment, actually stares down at Cash’s chest, how pale he is, but he doesn’t say anything. They still when their eyes connect and Cash presses a hand against Singer’s heart, closing his eyes and just feeling.

He’d be content like that for a while longer but Singer leans down again, taking his mouth in a kiss and that’s great, perfect too. He knows, he can smellit when Singer starts leaking in his jeans.

“Oh shit,” Singer moans breathily, keeping his mouth against Cash’s but just breathing the same air as he rubs down harder. “Cash, I don’t—”

“Yeah,” Cash groans, reaching up to pull Singer’s head back again, dragging his tongue up over his throat and oh that was a terrible idea because his fangs slide down and Singer tosses his head back and groans.

Cash curses under his breath, pressing his forehead to Singer's shoulder. He wills his fangs back up, but Singer is moaning again, grinding his hips in little circles, and Cash just curses again.

"God," Singer breathes, "we should—"

"Yeah, yes," Cash says, hands going to grip Singer's hips, but he doesn't tug down his jeans, just pulls him harder against Cash's front.

Cash is relieved when Singer presses his face between Cash's neck and shoulder while he works their hips together because then there's less chance of him seeing his fangs. He goes back to sucking at Cash's neck, teeth skimming Cash's skin. Cash jerks up at that, cock pulsing in his jeans. Singer's throat isn't so close to his mouth after that, so he manages to make the fangs retract.

"I'm gonna," Singer mumbles against his neck, and Cash nods.

He slides his mouth across Singer's cheek, kissing him sloppily, their mouths sliding against the other's wetly.

Singer comes when Cash pushes the tips of his fingers down the back of his pants, arching forward, jerking and gasping into Cash’s mouth. His hips grind down and Cash holds him there, pushing up and rubbing his cock hard against Singer’s. Singer moans weakly, like it’s too much, but Cash doesn’t stop, pushes up again and again, listening to Singer’s cries get shakier and shakier until he grits his teeth and explodes.

“Singer, oh,” Cash gasps, chin hooked over his shoulder, grasping the smaller body against his own. He feels so warm and so good, tucked against Cash, clinging to him like he needs it, needs Cash.

Cash jerks through the aftershocks, hips still rubbing against Singer’s, easier, until they’re both too sensitive for it and any motion makes Singer whimper pathetically in his ear.

Finally they still, panting hard, air thick and damp between them. Cash stares up at the ceiling, soothing both hands up and down Singer’s back until Singer sits up on his lap, fingers tapping against Cash’s belt buckle.

“Maybe next time we can, you know, get our pants off,” Singer laughs, cheeks bright red and forehead sweaty. He scratches at the side of his head, clearing his throat, so obviously embarrassed now. “If, yeah, next time.”

Cash sits up, careful to not knock Singer off of him. He kisses him wetly, their mouths sliding together, tongues brushing until Cash pulls back, sucking Singer’s lower lip into his mouth. “Next time for sure.”

Singer’s grin looks almost as genuinely relieved as Cash feels.

They separate and Cash only feels that maybe their tryst in the backseat was a bad idea when he feels his come-wet underwear cooling against his skin. 

"Ew," Cash says.

Singer echoes it, making a face down at his lap. Cash grins, pulling him forward with a hand around the back of his neck. He kisses Singer square on the mouth, says, "Worth it."

Singer grins again, and Cash does the same, hard enough that his cheeks almost ache. And when they try to kiss, it's mostly a failed attempt, if only because they can't stop smiling long enough to do it.

 

\--

 

Cash doesn’t call Singer the next night and Singer doesn’t call him either. He spends most of the evening jittering his leg and answering distractedly whenever anyone speaks to him. Marshall has to practically force him after someone when they go out to feed, pointing out a man and telling him to go follow.

Cash can barely keep himself focused when he drinks and can’t keep the guy quiet. He makes so much noise that Ian actually approaches and knocks him out. Cash stares down at him and Ian pushes at his shoulders.

“Come on, out, quick,” Ian mumbles, turning Cash and setting him in motion.

Cash goes without thinking.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” William asks him later when they’re all back at the loft and sunrise is close enough that Cash’s skin itches.

“Nothing,” he says, shrugging off Marshall’s hand from his shoulder and heading for his room.

William’s eyes narrow, Cash can sense it more than see it—his anger. But he doesn’t stop moving until he’s curled up under his covers, eyelids heavy and body sore. He didn’t eat hardly enough but he’s not going to worry about it now.

He can hear them talking but he doesn’t listen; it’s nothing he wants to hear. Cash reaches up under his pillow and checks his cell for missed calls. There aren’t any.

He sighs and rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as the sun creeps ever higher on the horizon.

Marshall stands outside his door for a few minutes and Cash silently begs him not to knock. He doesn’t think he has the energy to get up and unlock it let alone have a conversation with him about Singer. But he doesn’t; Marshall leaves when Ian appears, nudging him back down the hall to their room.

Cash groans, rubbing the heels of both hands into his eyes. It hurts, it helps, but not enough. Singer, why Singer? Why this human? Why now?

Cash turns back on his side, arm raised up over his ear, blocking out the sounds of William and Gabriel going for one last round before sunup. It doesn’t really help but it’s better than nothing.

 

\--

 

Cash calls the next evening, as soon as he’s up and fed, sitting on the floor in his bedroom, tapping the fingers of his free hand against the side of his shoe as he waits for Singer to pick up.

“Hey.” There’s a smile in his voice and it makes Cash smile; eyes closing in relief.

“Hey,” Cash says back. “What’s up?”

Singer’s breathing is a little heavy, there’s other people talking in the background and Cash feels a shock of jealousy at that. “Just finished up band practice. We’ve got another show tomorrow.” He’s excited, sounds happy, and Cash just wants to taste it on his blood.

His eyes snap open and he clears his throat; that’s not a welcome thought. “That’s awesome. If you tell me where maybe I could hit it up. If you wanted, I mean.”

“I do,” Singer says quickly before he laughs a little. “I mean, you know… well yeah, I do.”

Cash smiles. He feels like the teenager he never was.

“Are you busy now?” And Cash didn’t even mean to ask that, doesn’t want to appear too interested, too in need of whatever is going on between them. He doesn’t want to scare Singer off.

“No, I gotta shower first because I’m like totally rank, but I could meet you somewhere?”

Cash concentrates on his voice, the rises and falls and it’s not hard to tell that Singer is tired, probably very tired. Cash swallows and it’s a little harder than he thinks it should be. “Would you want to just watch a movie or something?”

Singer misses a beat; Cash listens to him climb into his car, slam the door, start the engine and he flushes, remembering clutching Singer’s sharp hips and grinding up against him in the backseat. His cock twitches and he spreads his knees, easing a hand down to rub at himself a little.

“Yeah, my mom doesn’t like to have people over without warning though,” Singer says.

Cash nods, palming at his crotch, bringing himself easily into hardness. “No?”

“No,” Singer repeats. “Is it cool if I come over to your place? I can bring movies. And popcorn,” he adds as an afterthought, definitely grinning.

Cash grins back, tilting his hips up as he slips his hand down the front of his jeans. “Okay, yeah, you got a pen?”

“Driving,” Singer laughs. Oh, yeah. “But I’ve got a pretty decent memory, what’s your address? Mapquest is my friend.”

Cash has never used Mapquest in his life but, “Definitely.” And tells Singer the address, easing his cock out of his boxers, stroking himself hard but slow.

“Awesome, I’ll be over in like an hour? That good?”

“That’s great,” Cash says.

“Any movie preference?”

Cash thumbs at the precome beading at the head of his dick and chokes back a gasp, giving in and pulling at himself faster and faster. “No vampire movies.”

Singer laughs, low, coming from his stomach and Cash’s muscles tighten. “No vampires it is. See you soon.”

“See ya,” Cash says, voice a little high but he hopes that Singer doesn’t notice.

He snaps the phone shut and shoves his other hand down, rolling his balls between his fingers, arching up and coming all over his shirt.

 

\--

 

Singer's eye are wide, appraising when Cash answers the door. "Wow," he says, stepping in. Cash closes the door after him. "You've got a nice place."

Cash smiles at him, shrugging. "I've also got roommates." Singer raises his eyebrows. "They're out now," Cash adds. And thank god for that, Cash thinks. Even if he did have to practically bribe them to make them leave, as they'd all been varying levels of interested once they'd found out Singer was coming over.

Singer nods and Cash glances down at his hands, where he's holding a DVD case and a pack of popcorn. He wants to kiss Singer. Should he? Is he allowed to do that?

"Look, I—" Cash starts, looking back up, but Singer cuts him off by pressing their mouths together. It's sweet, quick, and Cash is still blinking by the time Singer pulls back, ducking his head a little.

Singer laughs, bites his lip. "You were saying?" 

Cash huffs a hard breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I don't remember."

Singer laughs again, grinning. "Well, I brought over a horror movie, no vampires, and, yeah, the popcorn."

"I'm surprised you actually brought the popcorn," Cash grins.

Singer sticks his tongue out. "Said I would, didn't I?"

They move to the couch, dropping in front of the big TV Gabriel had sweet-talked William into letting him get. Cash is the one to put the movie in and pop the popcorn while the previews roll. When Cash first puts the movie in there is a respectable distance between them, maybe the length of one cushion. By the time the movie actually starts, there is maybe one or two inches separating them, and Cash really isn't entirely sure who made the move. Maybe they both did.

Cash gives in by the first action sequence, dropping his arm across the back of the couch and across Singer's shoulders. He's embarrassingly relieved when Singer presses closer, head almost on Cash's shoulder, and pretty much no space between them now. The bowl of popcorn sits by their feet, neither of them really interested in it.

Cash has no idea what's been happening in the film for the last fifteen minutes. Sure, there's blood and there's gore, and even the requisite sex scene, but, yeah, that's all he knows. He's more distracted by the way Singer smells, clean and sweet. He wonders if it would freak Singer out if he just turned his head into Singer's hair, inhaled as deeply as possible. Probably, it would.

"Wait," Singer says. "Is the father the killer? Seriously? That's a lame turn of events." He looks at Cash.

"Uh," Cash says. He glances from the screen to Singer's face. "Yeah. It was lame."

Singer narrows his eyes. "Have you been watching?"

"Yes," Cash says, emphatically. "Yeah, I even know that..." He squints his eyes at the screen. "The sister's dead."

"The sister died while the credits were still rolling," Singer says, but he sounds amused, so Cash doesn't think he's in trouble. Cash stretches his mouth in a wide grin, don't be mad.

Singer rolls his eyes, but there's still a small smile playing about his mouth. "Have you just been spacing out this whole time?"

"Maybe." Cash ducks his head, pressing his face between Singer's neck and shoulder. "Kinda," he admits, lips brushing Singer's neck. He inhales, breathing in that fucking sweet scent, and before it can get too weird, brings his head up to the side of Singer's face. He noses at the hair just above Singer's ear, the hand of the arm around Singer's shoulders coming up to touch the top of his head. He can hear the way Singer's heart beats a little faster, the way his next inhale is a little sharper.

"All right?" Cash asks, pressing his lips more firmly against Singer's cheek. Singer nods, and he seems to melt even further into Cash's side, hand dropping onto his knee, then up to his thigh.

There are screams from the TV and Cash almost turns to see what's going on, but then Singer's turning under Cash's arm, palming the side of his face and kissing him. Singer's arms go around his shoulders, trying to pull him even closer. Cash has to place his other hand behind them to keep them from falling over. Although, hey, maybe that's a good idea.

Cash grins, breaking the kiss. "Don't you wanna watch the movie?"

Singer purses his lips, annoyed looking. "Shut up," he huffs, pressing their lips back together. His tongue traces Cash's bottom lip, lightly. Cash takes his advice, fingers tangling in Singer's hair.

Cash lets them fall over on the couch, Singer settling atop him. The kiss gets a little harder, a little deeper, and Cash's hands go from Singer's ass to his shoulders to the small of his back, rubbing all over. They kiss and kiss, tongues sliding across each other's, and even though Cash can feel that Singer's hard, he never tries to make it more, seemingly content with just making out. So Cash doesn't try to make it more either, just sucks on Singer's tongue, gets used to the feel of Singer's weight against his front.

Cash isn't sure for how long they kiss, but then the front door is opening, and Singer is scrambling back and up, wiping his hand across his mouth. It's still red, and Cash stares at it for a moment, until Singer hits his thigh, glaring.

Cash sits up, and yep, there are Ian and Marshall and Gabriel and William. He glares at them over the back of the couch.

"Oh," Gabriel says, holding his hand to his heart dramatically, grinning. "I hope we didn't interrupt."

Ian's grinning just as brightly, chin over Marshall's shoulder. "Because that would be a real shame."

"What are you doing here?" Cash asks. He wonders how discretely he could adjust himself just then.

"We decided to bring the party here," William answers. He looks kind of bored, not much different than he usually does. Still, Cash thinks he seems a little colder than usual. Something.

"Hi," Singer says, voice higher than normal. He waves. Marshall is the only one to wave back, as Gabriel and Ian just stare at him, still grinning, and William examines his nails. He doesn't blame Singer for what he says next. "I should probably get home now anyway," he says, and he's blushing, standing up beside the couch. Cash tries not to let his disappointment show.

"All right," he says, also standing. He leads Singer to the door with a hand on the small of his back, not before popping his DVD out and handing it back to him. At least when Singer says goodbye, the guys say it back this time.

He closes the door behind him, stands in the hall with Singer to say his own goodbye. He knows they can probably hear, that they're probably listening just on the other side of the door, but he tries not to think too hard about that.

"So," Cash says.

"Your friends are," Singer says. He doesn't finish.

Cash winces. "Sorry about that. Just ignore them. Honestly, it's what I do most of the time anyway."

Singer laughs a little. "All right. I'll keep that in mind."

Cash presses forward quickly, kissing Singer lightly. Singer kisses him back.

"Thanks for coming," Cash says, once they break apart.

Singer grins widely. "My pleasure."

"I'll see you tomorrow," Cash says. "At your show?"

Singer's eye light up. "Definitely, yeah. See you there."

They share one more kiss before Singer walks away, towards the stairs. Cash waits until he disappears around the corner to go back inside.

"What the hell is wrong with you guys?" Cash hisses.

Ian raises his eyebrows, as if to look innocent, and Gabriel is suddenly very interested in sticking his head in the fridge, looking for a beer probably. Cash knows there are only maybe five different types of drinks in there, and it shouldn't take Gabriel as long it does.

Marshall raises a hand, shrugging. "I was dragged along."

Ian squawks. "Are you ratting us out?"

Marshall smiles, backing away. "Just telling the truth."

"And, what," Cash says, turning on his heel to face William. He's sprawled on one of the armchairs. "Do you not like him or something?"

William just cocks an eyebrow. "Why would I not like him?"

Cash frowns, mouth tight. "That doesn't answer the question."

"Hey," Marshall says. He sounds a little nervous, maybe. "You guys want to watch a movie? It's probably too late to be going back out anyway."

Ian and Gabriel are on it, yelling about some new film or other that they should finally watch. William saunters over, dropping onto the couch next to Gabriel. Marshall looks at him, questioning.

"Nah," Cash says. "I think I'll turn in early."

"Sure?" Marshall asks. He looks slightly worried. Cash doesn't want to deal with this now.

"I'm good," he says, and doesn't wait for Marshall to ask him again. He heads for his room, closing the door after himself.

He doesn't fall asleep until the sun's in the sky, thoughts jumping between Singer and Marshall and William. And, unsurprisingly, it's not the best day's sleep he's ever had.

 

\--

 

Cash spends a good half hour in front of the bathroom mirror changing shirts between the same plain black v-neck and a faded-to-gray band shirt he got at a Rolling Stones concert back in the late 60s. He checks himself from all angles in both, walks towards and away from the counter, watching what he looks like coming and going, lifts his arms above his head to judge which shows off the strip of skin above the waist of his jeans better. And he still can't decide until Ian bangs on the door and tells him to quit being a woman.

"Jesus," Ian mutters, pushing the door open and stepping in. "You're not meeting the president; you look fine."

Marshall stands in the doorway, leaning on the jamb, arms folded loosely across his chest, watching.

Ian fusses with Cash's hair for a minute before Cash brushes his hands away and picks up the black v-neck again. He turns to Marshall to be his saving grace. "Which one?"

Marshall just purses his lips in thought before shrugging and saying, "Both look good," before turning and heading down the hall.

Cash slumps immediately, letting the shirt in his hand land on the floor.

"What's his problem?" Cash asks, the hurt he's feeling registering on his face.

Ian waves a hand in the direction of the door. "Never mind him. Wear the Stones one," Ian says, taking the black v-neck and turning Cash towards him, tugging on the hem and picking imaginary flecks of dust from the collar.

Cash's hand stops him, holding tightly to his wrist and Ian looks shockingly pained when he meets Cash's eyes.

"Don't," he says before Cash can even repeat himself about Marshall. He waits for Ian, holding onto his wrist. "You can't expect him to have you all to himself for a quarter of a millennia and then be entirely happy that you've found someone new."

Cash feels a shock of pain unlike anything he's felt since he was human. Since Ian came along. He twists his arm and tries to pull free, but Ian turns and pushes the door closed before fighting Cash back against the far wall. Cash struggles, of course he does, but Ian has always had him beaten in the strength department so he eventually stops trying; sags against the wall and lets Ian hold him there.

"I was never his to begin with," Cash snaps, the lie bitter and heavy on his tongue. "He never wanted me, not with you around."

Ian's eyes flash hurt a moment before he digs his fingers into Cash's throat and pushes his head back into the wall. "Is that what you think?" he growls. "That you've been nothing but his companion in all this time? That we, what? Invited you to our bed because we couldn't find anyone else to fill it?" He slams Cash's head into the drywall again, pushing up hard with his fingers, digging into his skin. "What do you think I’m even seeing when I look at you?"

That throws Cash for a moment. "What?"

"You've been Marshall's since before I existed in your lives but you've been ours ever since."

Cash suddenly has to gasp for air, feels like he's going to be sick. "Ian, let me go."

Ian does, releasing his throat but pushing in against Cash's chest with his forearm, saying low, close to his face, "I could never give you Marshall because I'm just not that selfless and he wasn't meant for you." Cash feels his eyes prick painfully. "He loves you," Ian continues, obviously picking and guarding his words carefully. "I love you, but we aren't for you. There will never be enough room for you in us and you know it as well as I do." Ian steps back and Cash nearly falls to his knees. It's a close thing.

Ian gives him space, putting a couple backward steps between them. "After all this time you can still break me with him, Ian," Cash says, looking down and slouching with his hands against his thighs.

"I could," Ian agrees, "but that's not something I want."

Ian offers his hand to Cash. It's a long minute before Cash takes it and lets Ian pull him upright.

"I deserve Singer," Cash tells him, still holding onto Ian's hand.

"You do," Ian agrees quietly.

Cash waits for the but, some excuse or argument that never comes.

Ian only releases Cash's hand to pull him close when Cash sinks in against him.

 

\--

 

Cash wears the black v-neck. He makes his way to the same venue they'd been when he first saw Singer, which, really, was only about a week ago. It feels much longer.

He gets held up a little, making sure he's fully satisfied once he's fed. He doesn't want to take any chances. By the time he shows up at the venue, Singer's band is just walking onstage.

Cash is just as taken as the last time he watched Singer work the crowd, if not more than. His eyes hardly leave the stage, watching as Singer paces back and forth, smiles at the crowd, letting Singer's voice fill his head. He's not sure if he's actually surprised when he finds that he's worked his way through most of the bodies between himself and the stage, only one or two people between he and Singer. He can't really explain the thrill that goes through him when Singer looks directly at him, singing to him through the whole of a chorus.

When their set is finally done and they walk off the stage, Cash meets Singer just by the side. The venue's small enough that there's really no backstage, so Cash is able to wrap his fingers around Singer's wrist and pull him towards the bathroom. He can hear Singer's heartbeat, loud and fast, still excited from performing. His wrist slips a little under Cash's hand, sweaty, and maybe he should be grossed out by that, but he's not. It just makes Singer's smell sharper, that much stronger.

Cash pulls him inside the single unisex bathroom, backs him against the door after locking it.

Singer looks surprised, maybe a little wary. He says, "You came."

"I did," Cash smiles, and leans forward, kisses Singer.

Singer's mouth is slack with surprise, but he kisses back soon enough, arms wrapping around Cash's shoulders. Cash steps even closer, pressing their fronts together. He's hard already, just from Singer, his voice, his smell. He grinds against Singer's hip and Singer gasps. Cash drags his mouth across Singer's cheek, down to press an open-mouthed kiss there. He doesn't linger, lest he get excited in ways that could be potentially dangerous.

"Not gonna even say hi?" Singer rasps, pushing his hips forward.

Cash eases his hand up Singer's shirt, forehead to his shoulder. He rubs his palm across Singer's belly, farther up, then down. He presses the heel of his hand against Singer's dick, rubs until Singer is fully hard and pushing his hips off the wall.

"Hi," Cash grins, and drops to his knees.

Singer eyes go impossibly wide, and he stares down at Cash, mouth open. "Are you. Really?"

As an answer Cash unbuckles Singer's belt, unbuttons and unzips his jeans. He yanks Singer's jeans down, then his underwear.

Singer bites his lip. "Okay," he says. "Wow, okay."

Cash licks his palm, wraps it around the base of Singer's dick, and takes the head into his mouth. Singer arches, and Cash is sure he would've choked if he didn't also have a hand gripping Singer's hips, pushing bruises into his skin as he holds him back against the door. He sucks harder the on the head, swirling his tongue.

Singer moans, hand cupping the back of Cash's head, the back of his neck. Cash goes down, swallowing Singer slowly, until his hand meets his mouth. Then he sucks up slowly, lips tight around Singer's cock, liking the way Singer's thumb pushes, rubs over his jaw.

He rolls his eyes up, enough to see Singer's gaze fixed to where Cash's lips are wrapped around his cock. Cash feels his own cock pulse in his jeans when Singer meets his eyes, hand moving so that he can brush his thumb across Cash's cheek. Cash wants to touch himself, grind the heel of his hand into his dick through his jeans, but he doesn't.

Cash pulls off, hand stroking easily, wet from his spit. Cash licks his lips before taking Singer into his mouth again. He works steadily, mouth tight and hot and sucking on Singer's dick, hand squeezing what he can't reach. He even rolls Singer's balls between his other fingers, closing his eyes when Singer groans.

He lets Singer come down his throat, swallows most of it, and Singer slumps against the wall. Cash pulls away, wiping his hand across his mouth. He fumbles his pants open with unsteady fingers, shoves his hand down to wrap around his cock.

He only gets in two, three, strokes before Singer is grabbing his biceps, pulling him up. "No, come on," he says, and Cash goes.

Singer pulls him close once he's standing, bending his head to Cash's shoulder, and takes Cash's cock into his hand. It's already wet from Cash's touch, but not enough, so his hand is a little rough, mostly nice on Cash's cock. He comes far too quickly to not be embarrassing, spurting across the bottom of Singer's shirt.

"Shit," Cash mumbles, even though he's mostly dazed. "I'm sorry. Fuck."

Singer laughs, then kisses Cash. "It's cool, I usually bring extra shirts to shows anyway."

Singer ends up taking the shirt off and balling it up. He has on a tank top beneath, but Cash wonders if it's any less incriminating, walking out of the bathroom he disappeared into for at least twenty minutes with a shirt that has come striped across the bottom, or coming out with only a tank top on.

Cash waits by the merch again, watches as Singer interacts with the tiny amount of fans that stuck around after the show. He tries not to glare too much at the ones that ask for hugs, stand too close for pictures. He's not sure if he succeeds.

"Did you want to go back to my place?" Cash asks, once any stragglers left have dispersed and they're kicked outside of the venue. He can see Singer's bandmates waiting by the van, but he can also see that Singer drove here himself.

Singer frowns, looking down. "I can't, I have school tomorrow. It's pretty late already."

"Oh." Cash swallows. Fuck, he's still in school, of course he is. Cash should've thought of that before. 

Singer glances quickly at the guys by the van, then steps forward to press a light, fleeting kiss to the corner of Cash's mouth. "Call me," he says.

"I will," Cash responds. Singer smiles, pressing one more kiss to Cash’s lips and then leaves. He'd told Singer he hadn't needed a ride. Looking back now, Cash realizes that was maybe a dumb move. He could've spent at least a little more time with Singer if he'd asked for a ride home.

Cash sighs. He starts walking in the direction of the loft. He manages not to look back over his shoulder too many times.

 

\--

 

It's not surprising that Cash wakes up—they all get up during the day from time to time—it's that his phone ringing beside his head is what does it.

His cell never wakes him up.

He fumbles under his pillow, and knocks it onto the floor. His eyes hurt and his head feels heavy and he aches but he finally gets it, leaning over the side and curling his fingers around it.

"Huh?" he asks into the mouthpiece.

Singer laughs. "Good morning, Sunshine. It's like three thirty."

Cash groans, rolling onto his back and rubbing hard at his forehead. "Oh," is all he's able to say.

"Late night?”

"Kinda."

"You want me to let you go?" Singer sounds a little disappointed and Cash forces his eyes open. It's completely black in his room but it still hurts.

He shakes himself a little. "What's up?"

"Just got out of school. Thought you might wanna meet me for lunch." Cash nearly throws up at the suggestion. "I looked up vegan restaurants and there's one like five seconds away from the diner we went to last time."

Cash is silent a moment, trying to make his brain process what Singer's just told him before he asks, "What time is it?"

"Three thirty," Singer repeats.

"In the afternoon?"

There's a pause before Singer asks, "Are you all right?"

Cash shakes his head and that really only makes the pain worse so he stops, closing his eyes. "Not really. Fighting with my friends,” he lies. Well, sort of lies; Marshall still won’t really speak to him and William keeps giving him harsh looks. Cash rubs hard at his eyes again, mostly just to stop the stinging feeling building behind his eyelids.

“That sucks,” Singer says, sounding like he actually cares. “The ones you live with?”

“Yeah.”

Singer is quiet a moment before he says, “Well, I’ll let you go.”

“What about tonight?” Cash tries. “You can come over.”

“I can’t, I’ve got midterms next week and I fail at life when it comes to history.”

Cash blinks into the darkness. “History? Seriously?”

Singer laughs a little and it makes Cash feel light-headed. “Yeah, I couldn’t tell you shit about last week let alone the last three hundred years. At this point I’m just looking to pass.”

“I could help. Tutor you, I mean.” Cash’s head really hurts.

“Seriously? You’re good with history? American history, government, that kinda thing?”

I’ve lived it, Cash thinks. “Yeah, for sure. When’re you free?”

Singer is quiet a moment and Cash really needs to wrap this up; he feels like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t go back to sleep right this instant. “Friday, I’ve got practice Saturday with the guys at ass o’clock in the morning but it’s the only time we’re all free before Sunday’s show.”

Cash really wants to ask about his upcoming show but he can do that later, when he’s not about to dig his own eyes out. “I gotta go,” he says abruptly. “I’m sorry, I’ll call you tonight?”

Singer hums quietly. “I guess I can work in a break to talk to you.”

“Hope so.”

Cash can hear Singer’s smile when he says, “Tonight then.”

 

\--

 

Cash knows it’s movie night when he gets up because as soon as he lets go of the woman he was feeding from Gabriel grabs him from behind and pulls him off, grinning from ear to ear when he asks, “Comedy or horror?”

They’ve been together for several lifetimes, just the five of them being the only steady thing for one another when things changed and then changed again. They still spend most nights a week together, feed together, go out together, and, oddly enough, turn into teenage human girls and hunker down in the living room to watch movies together a few times a month.

Gabriel ends up choosing the movie—some action film with a high-low ratio of explosions to good actors—and Cash can tell he’s not the only one not attempting to follow along. Gabriel’s had his hand under the blanket he and William don’t need, but are curled up under together. William makes no noise but he can see the movement of Gabriel’s arm.

Cash rolls his eyes and shifts, bringing his knees up under him. Marshall’s arm is against his shoulders, lifting up when he moves and then settling back down when Cash does. Ian is pressed to Marshall’s other side, purposefully not looking to his right, at Gabriel and William on the other couch.

“So,” Ian says during a lull in the fire and screaming onscreen—and Cash can tell it’s nothing good, “this’d be date night if Cash would bring his boyfriend around again.”

Gabriel snorts when Marshall shoves Ian. “Hush,” is all he says.

Cash blanches, sitting up straighter but Marshall holds on; he loves Marshall.

“How old is that boy, Cash?” Gabriel asks, hand still obviously working under the blanket. William’s toes curl against the hardwood floor and he licks absently at his bottom lip. Cash turns back to the screen.

“Fuck off." 

Ian grins, stretching his limbs out. “You’re a total pedo, Cash.”

Cash has to actually think about that twice before he turns and glares at Ian over Marshall. “Did you just call me a pedo?” Gabriel provides a running commentary of ooh’s and lurid grins. “You were at least a hundred when you started molesting Marshall.”

Marshall removes his arms from about both Cash and Ian. “Guys,” he says.

Ian holds up a hand as if asking him to wait a moment before finishing his thought but William speaks, voice breathy and absent-sounding before Ian can. “Nearly a hundred and ten.”

Ian’s head snaps in William’s direction and William’s eyes slit open; he grins. Gabriel leans in and nips at his jaw until they close again, pressing their lips together before sliding their tongues out, kissing lewdly.

 

Ian throws a pillow that William grabs without even looking and promptly drops to flip him off.

“Yeah, well,” Ian says loudly, leaning over the gap between couches, “William molested me first.”

Gabriel lifts his head from William’s mouth, lips wet and red, locking eyes with Ian as William tries to pull him back down with hands on the back of his head. “I bet you didn’t complain once,” he says before closing his eyes and meeting William’s mouth again, arm jerking faster, making William’s hips twitch up off the couch in rhythm.

It’s obvious they aren’t listening but Ian huffs, folding his arms and leaning into Marshall. “Only enough to be considered classy, Saporta.” Gabriel flips him off this time. “God, get a room.”

William pulls back, head against Gabriel’s arm on the back of the couch, and laughs breathily. “You get a room.” Cash blinks in William’s direction. “Did we leave you out?” William manages to ask before his eyes snap shut and he’s all quiet groans and snapping hips, breathing into Gabriel’s mouth.

Cash shudders a little, skin crawling with goosebumps; William looks amazing in the throes of orgasm.

Marshall speaks up, finally, replacing his arm around Cash’s shoulder, squeezing and rubbing a little. “William’s an old cougar.” Ian laughs. “He molested Ian, Ian molested me, now I’m passing the torch to you,” he says, turning to Cash and Cash stills. It’s the first time Marshall has really met his gaze since it became clear that Singer wasn’t just a one night person in his life. He smiles a little, tentative and worried that he might be reading it wrong, that this isn’t Marshall’s silent go-ahead. The relief that washes through him when Marshall smiles back is so intense that Cash has to close his eyes. Marshall leans in until their foreheads are pressed together and Cash smiles again.

Gabriel interrupts—of course he does—with, “Doesn’t that mean to, technically, pass the torch, that you have to molest Cash?”

There’s an awkward moment of silence until Ian presses against Marshall’s back and says, “Technically he’s right.”

Marshall pulls back, looking over at Gabriel and William—who is now gazing in their direction with vague interest, eyes still heavy-lidded—before turning to Cash again and dropping his hand between Cash’s legs and squeezing.

Cash jolts back but Marshall gets in another solid grope before pulling away and holding both hands above his head. “There,” he says, voice bored, “I did it.”

Ian turns to Gabriel. “Look what you did.” And for a moment it looks as though he’s going to spring right over William onto Gabriel until Gabriel twists his hand from beneath the blanket, damp and unappealing, and holds it up between them.

“Jizz hand,” he says as if that’s the only argument needed.

And it turns out to be because Ian slumps back into Marshall immediately, looking back at the TV with a mumbled, “Ew.”

Cash shakes his head. “Sick, Gabriel.”

“You know you love it,” Gabriel grins back before sucking two of his fingers into his mouth.

Cash makes a face like he’s gagging before Marshall presses his hand over Cash’s eyes and blocks out his visual.

 

\--

 

After the movie's over, Cash slips away to his room, making sure to lock the door after himself. It's pretty late, but he calls Singer anyway. He said he would

"Hey," Singer answers. He sounds alert, awake, and Cash almost breathes a sigh of relief.

"You're awake," he says, not hiding the pleased lilt to his voice.

Singer laughs a little. The sound isn't completely happy. "Study, study, study," he sighs. "Why'd you call if you thought I might be asleep?"

Cash goes to lay down on his bed, on top of the covers. "Said I would." Singer sighs again. If Cash strains his ears he can maybe, just maybe, pick up the sound of pages turning. "But, hey," Cash continues, "I'm happy to talk to you, too."

Singer laughs a real laugh at that. "I am happy to talk to you. Just, not so much towards this history book."

Cash hums, putting one arm behind his head. "I can tell you right now, it'll be much better when I'm helping with your history stuff."

"Really," Singer says. It sounds like there's a smile in his voice. "How so?"

Flirting, Cash thinks. They're flirting. "Well, for one, we'll actually be in the same room."

"What else?" Singer asks.

Cash slides his hand down his belly, just like that other time. But he doesn't touch himself, fingers pausing at his belt. "And for every right answer you get while I'm helping you study, every time you do something right." Cash shrugs, though Singer can't see him. "Who knows, you might get a reward."

"Oh," Singer breathes. He clears his throat. Cash bites his lip. "Um. So I'll be going to your place Friday?"

"Yeah," Cash says. "I'll probably be able to convince my friends to spend the night out." He hopes so, at least.

They're both quiet for a little while after that and Cash just listens to Singer's slow breaths. "I should probably get back to studying."

"Yeah, you should," Cash says. Neither of them say goodbye right away.

Singer huffs a laugh. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. I'll see you Friday."

"Two days," Cash says.

 

\--

 

The next night, Cash is just a little anxious. He keeps his phone close at all times, checking and rechecking, like he maybe could've missed a call in the whole five seconds he'd had his eyes off the phone. Even Cash can admit that it's kind of pathetic.

So he mopes around the loft, only leaving to go feed with Marshall and Ian, and then insisting on coming home right away. Cash slouches on the couch and realizes, dimly, that he'd hate to be hanging around himself right about now.

Gabriel pokes at his shoulder. "What's wrong with him?"

"I think this is what they call lovesick," Ian says wisely. Cash grits his teeth. Ian wrinkles his nose. "I hope I wasn't this unbearable when I met Marshall."

Gabriel and William share a look, and William cards his fingers through Ian's curls, cups the back of his neck. "Ian," William says, "you were far worse."

Ian ducks his head away, but he's grinning. He says, "You lie."

Cash cracks a tiny smile at that, though it's mostly against his will. He tries not to let the others see it, falling onto his side and shoving a couch cushion under his head. He resists the urge to squawk indignantly when the cushion is yanked away, if only because Marshall then sits down in the place of it, offering his thigh as a pillow.

"Well," Gabriel says, standing up. "We should get going now. Anyone else coming?"

Cash can feel Marshall staring down at him. He can't really work up the energy to feel annoyed. Marshall's fingers are light on his jaw, his neck, when he says, "No, I think I'll stay in tonight."

Which, of course, means that, "Count me out," Ian says.

Cash rolls his eyes. "You guys should go out. I don't need your pity."

Ian makes a reproachful noise, says, "You think awfully much of yourself, don't you? To assume we're staying here for you."

Cash would blush if he weren't mostly sure that that was actually the reason they were staying. "Fuck off," he mutters.

William sighs, disappointedly. "Suit yourselves."

Gabriel clicks his tongue at them on the way out, says, "I swear, you guys hardly know how to have fun anymore."

The only reason Cash doesn't throw a pillow at him is because the door is already closed by the time he'd have reached for one. He sighs.

Ian shoves his legs off the couch, pulling them into his lap once he's seated. His hand wraps around Cash ankle under his jeans. "You're bringing me down, Cash Money," Ian says. He scoots up the couch a little bit, until more of Cash's legs are across his lap.

"What's wrong with you?" Marshall asks, fingers still stroking lightly across the back of his neck

Cash himself isn't quite sure what's wrong him. Just that he wishes Singer didn't have to study, didn't have to practice with his band. He wishes Singer was here. He wishes he was wherever Singer is. He wishes it was tomorrow night already, so he could see Singer again. It's so stupid. He doesn't answer Marshall, but he's pretty sure it's not very difficult to figure out.

Marshall's fingers press down a little harder, and Cash shivers. "You could," Marshall says. He's biting his lip when Cash turns his head to look at him. Marshall rubs the top of his head, palm sliding over short hair. "You should come to our room. If you wanted." Ian squeezes his knee.

Cash closes his eyes. Not that long ago, he would've said yes. Hell, a very small part of him still wants to say yes. The fact that he feels guilty at even the thought of going to bed with Ian and Marshall is pretty big sign that he's so fucking gone. If, you know, everything else hadn't already been a big neon sign pointing towards that fact.

"I'm good," Cash says. "But thanks. I guess."

"Fine," Ian mutters, playfully, as if he were offended by Cash's answer. "But you're still going to sleep in our bed, and you're going to be the little spoon, and you're going to like it."

That surprises a laugh out of Cash. "Sure, whatever gets you off."

Ian leers then, mouth opening to says something very dirty no doubt, but Marshall cuts him off. "Ian," he says, warningly.

Ian rolls his eyes. "Gabriel was right," he says. He stands up, holding a hand out to Cash who lets himself be pulled to his feet.

He also lets Marshall and Ian shuffle him towards their bedroom, then their bed. He lets them threaten to undress him down to his boxers if he doesn't move faster, and he allows Ian to push him back onto the bed. He lets them press tight on either side, Ian curved around his back and Marshall pressed close to his front, lets Ian splay his fingers across Cash's belly and Marshall press a light kiss to his mouth. He does all this and, not for the first time that night, wishes it were tomorrow already.

 

\--

 

Cash is able to get Marshall and Ian out of the loft the next night fairly easily but William proves to be more of a challenge.

It's not that he doesn't know that Cash is having Singer over because Gabriel has been teasing him nonstop since the sun set. Still he lounges around on the couch flipping idly through channels on TV and waving Ian off when he tries to get him up.

"Go feed," William tells him, shrugging Ian's hand off his arm.

Ian gives Cash an I tried look before he nudges Marshall out the door.

Cash finally heads into Gabriel and William's room and stands in the bathroom doorway, watching Gabriel fix his hair.

"Please," he says, causing Gabriel to look over at him.

"Please what?"

"You know what," Cash says, taking a step inside, looking up to meet Gabriel's eyes. "Please get him out of here."

Gabriel looks down at his hand on the counter, drumming his fingers a little and pursing his lips in thought. He doesn't glance back up when he says, "He's young." Cash stares. "You really think he's going to want to give up his life for you?"

“I really haven’t thought about it but—”

“Bullshit,” Gabriel cuts in, eyes snapping to Cash’s. “You forget that I’ve known you all your life. You didn’t see yourself when you were talking to him at that show.” Gabriel grabs Cash’s arm and pulls him in a little. “I could smell you.” Cash shudders when his voice drops, nudging his nose against Cash’s temple before kissing his forehead. “If you don’t think he’s going to give up everything for you then you might as well let him go.”

“How would you know?” Cash rasps, pushing Gabriel away from him and folding his arms across his chest. “You’ve never turned anyone, you’ve had William since the beginning,” Cash points at his heart, “I’ve had no one. So fuck you if you think you have any right to tell me to stop seeing him.”

It surprises Cash when Gabriel just turns back to the mirror and buries his fingers in his hair again, shaking it into place.

Cash bites back a sigh and leans into the doorjamb, resting his forehead on it and turning just enough to look at Gabriel when he says, “I’m scared to tell him.”

Gabriel stops grooming himself again and looks back at Cash. “Yeah, I get that.”

“You never had to do that. I don’t know how. He could freak out and try to kill me or something.”

“I doubt that,” Gabriel says. “At least the killing part.” Cash shrugs and Gabriel sighs, tapping his fingers against the edge of the sink again; he makes a clicking sound with his tongue as he thinks. He sighs again when he turns and puts his lanky arms around Cash’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug that Cash willingly falls into. “If he freaks, he freaks.” Gabriel scratches lightly, fondly at Cash’s hair, right where it starts on his neck.

“I don’t want him to, though. And William totally hates him.”

Gabriel makes a non-committal sound. “None of us know him well enough to hate him.” Gabriel pulls back, framing Cash’s face with both hands and kissing his forehead again. “I’ll get him to go out with me.”

Cash smiles a little. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Gabriel squeezes his upper arm before giving himself another look in the mirror and slipping past Cash to leave the bathroom.

 

\--

 

The loft is blessedly empty when Singer shows up, backpack on with his thumbs hooked behind the straps. He smiles when Cash opens the door.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Cash responds, letting Singer in before palming the side of Singer’s neck and leaning in to kiss him. He only means for it to be brief, a little hello, but Singer kisses back, wet and hard, opening his mouth and letting Cash’s tongue in. Cash groans, pulling Singer closer and pressing their chests together until Singer pulls back with a laugh, his cheeks a little flushed.

“You’re already the best tutor I’ve ever had.”

Cash laughs, kissing him lightly again and gesturing down the hall. “Shall we?”

Singer nods and follows Cash to his bedroom, which Cash had hurriedly cleaned just minutes before Singer knocked. He lifts his arms, gesturing a little. “My humble abode.”

Singer nods again, grinning. “Somehow I didn’t imagine you having white sheets.”

Cash glances down at his bed. “I never really thought about it. I don’t have a lot of people complaining about my bedding choices.” Cash mentally slaps himself; that probably didn’t sound right at all.

Singer raises his eyebrows at Cash as he slips his backpack off of his shoulders to place on the bed. He looks mostly amused so Cash doesn't excuse himself to go bang his head against a wall. "Really," he says.

"Yeah, uh," Cash says, rubbing the back of his neck. "That came out wrong."

Singer laughs. "I'm sure it did," he says. He reaches into his backpack to pull out a history textbook.

"Shit," Cash says, eyeing the book as if it could attack him. The thing is huge.

"Yeah," Singer says, staring at it balefully. He looks up at Cash. "So," he says, glancing at Cash's desk. The top is completely covered in CDs and wristbands that he tosses there after coming back from shows. Singer looks back at the bed. "Guess we're working over here."

Cash grins at him, finally stepping forward and dropping down on the bed hard enough to bounce a little. "You guessed right."

Singer sits down next to him, gingerly, and on the edge of the mattress. He opens the textbook on his lap, revealing papers he stuck between pages. He points to a particular paper, says, "So my teacher gave us a study guide that has most of the questions on the midterm. I just need to fill this whole thing out and I'm golden."

Cash leans close, chin practically over Singer's shoulder, which is really wholly unnecessary but puts him that much closer to Singer. Singer for his part only tenses a little, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Cash.

Cash squints at the paper. "Those are a lot of questions," he says.

"I know," Singer says darkly. "But I got a lot of them already, and I guess this is where you come in to help with the rest."

Cash resists the urge to turn his head and bury his nose between Singer's neck and shoulder. Probably, that would not help them get Singer's guide done, not teach him any history. Probably.

They start at the Civil War because Singer’s already got the part from early American history done up to then and Cash is able to answer most everything except the parts when he was in Europe or simply can’t remember.

They both spend a good fifteen minutes looking up the ten questions spanning Andrew Johnson and Ulysses Grant’s presidencies because Cash has a hole in his memory twelve years wide when it comes to that.

“February 1862, right there,” Cash says, pointing to a paragraph close to the bottom of the page.

Singer squints his eyes before leaning over to scribble it down on his study guide. “I’m going to fail this.”

Cash swats at his leg. “I don’t know it either.”

“But your high school career doesn’t depend on this.”

“Neither does yours. I assume,” Cash says, leaning in and kissing Singer again. It’s light, just the barest brush of tongues against each other’s for a good minute or so before Cash pulls back and Singer wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

“Got my face all wet.”

Cash rolls his eyes. “You love it.”

Singer rolls his lips inward when he smiles, letting his hair cover the side of his face when he looks back down at the book on his legs.

Cash pushes his hair back and leans in to kiss at Singer’s neck. Singer’s skin breaks out in goosebumps and Cash just sees that as initiative so he keeps kissing, light brushes of his lips against Singer’s neck. He feels his pulse fluttering and bites back a groan before moving away, up to his ear, taking the lobe into his mouth and sucking a little.

Singer shudders and pushes Cash back with a hand on his chest. He’s blushing when Cash looks at him. “I didn’t even answer anything right that time.”

Cash has been kissing him for every time Singer knows something or finds it on his own. Cash smiles. “That was just a bonus.”

“For my good looks, no doubt,” Singer mumbles, dropping his gaze again and it takes Cash a moment to realize Singer’s implication.

“What are you talking about?” He’d like to hear it.

Singer shakes his head. “Nothing.” Cash reaches for Singer’s history book and closes it. “We’re not done,” he says, looking back up and reaching for it. Cash holds it up and away.

“You’re hot,” Cash blurts.

Singer pauses, looking up at him. “Whatever.” He doesn’t sound at all convinced. Cash still doesn’t hand the book back and Singer sighs, leaning back into the wall and rubbing at his forehead a little. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Do what?”

Singer knocks his bare feet together. Cash thinks for a second he’s going to continue with the conversation but he suddenly switches topics—mostly—with, “I don’t get why you like me, or whatever. I have no idea what I’m doing with any of this.”

Cash blinks at him, startled by the confession. He puts the book down behind him, not looking away from Singer, not even when he hears the book slide off the bed and hit the floor. Singer frowns down at it.

Cash opens and closes his mouth a couple times. Fuck. He hates having to explain himself to people, whether it be his feelings, or a matter of trust, whatever, he hates it. He chews on his own bottom lip, careful not to break the skin. Singer's staring down his lap now, red staining his cheeks, fingers play with a small hole in his jeans at the knee.

"Neither do I," Cash says, finally. Singer glances back up at him through his hair before looking back down his lap. "I've never been with someone the way I want to be with you."

Singer frowns again, still doesn't look up. "That barely makes sense."

Cash ignores the last, says, "And I'm not sure why I like you either." Singer's mouth tightens, hands clenching into fists, and Cash rushes to say, "But, obviously, I do like, and I do want you here. I just, can't explain it well."

Singer pulls his knees up, hugging them to his chest. Cash crawls up the bed to sit beside him, close enough that their sides press together.

"Did you think I really knew what I was doing? Did it seem that way?" Cash asks. He makes a small, disbelieving noise. "Guess I'm smoother than I thought."

Singer cracks a smile, turning his head to the side so Cash can't see it. But all that does is bare his neck to Cash, and he has to lean over, brush his lips over Singer's throat, then again, a little more firmly. Singer shivers.

Cash doesn't pull his mouth away from Singer's neck when he says, "I couldn't tell you why, but I can honestly say that I really, really like you." He press a wetter kiss to Singer's neck, pleased when he hears Singer's breath catch. "That I really, really want you."

Singer's hand lifts from where he was cupping his own elbow, touching the side of Cash's head. His thumb traces the curve of Cash's ear. "Sorry if I killed the mood," he mumbles.

Cash laughs, lifting his head to kiss Singer's cheek, just under his ear. "Didn't kill it, it was just, you know. Badly injured."

Singer laughs too, hitting Cash's shoulder lightly. When Cash catches his mouth in a kiss he's still smiling. He licks into Singer's mouth, hand cupping the side of Singer's neck to feel the way his pulse speeds up. He drops his other hand onto Singer's knee, pushing a little until Singer stretches his legs out again, allows Cash to press closer.

Singer turns a little, letting one hand rest on Cash’s thigh and brushing the other up through his hair, pulling him in by the back of the head.

They kiss for a while, deep enough that they barely move their lips, just their tongues, sliding in and out of each other’s mouths and it isn’t long before Cash is getting hard, straining up against his zipper. Singer presses closer, groaning a little when Cash puts a hand on his hip and pulls him up.

Singer breaks away when Cash tries to get him into his lap, hand on the back of his knee.

“Wait,” Singer says, breathless, his forehead damp with a fine sheen of sweat.

Cash licks his lips involuntarily because he can practically smell the rapid flow of Singer’s blood, how it pools in his crotch and races quickly enough to make his hands shake on Cash’s shoulder and upper arm. “Yeah?”

“What if—” Singer cuts himself off, sitting back and Cash wants to cry or something equally immature. He lets go of Singer but Singer just takes his hands and puts them on his hips again. “We could, um, maybe—I don’t know if I’m… ready,” he blushes even more, if it’s possible, “to, you know—but I think, I think… we could—we can try. If you want.”

Cash stops his fumbling for words with a hard kiss. He wants. “I want.”

Singer looks nervous though. “I’ve never—not just with a dude, like ever, ever.”

It takes Cash a moment to decode that. “I haven’t a lot.” He’s not sure if that’s as reassuring as he means it to be. “I won’t—it’ll be good,” he says, leaning in and kissing him again. Singer grips the back of his neck and holds on when Cash moves, easing him down onto his back and settling between his thighs on the bed. “It’ll be good,” he repeats.

Singer is hard and Cash grinds against him.

Singer's arms wind around his neck, pulling him close. He pushes his hips against Cash's, their cocks pressing together through their jeans. It's good like that, Singer pushing up, legs spread, and Cash grinding down, but that's not all that he wants to do.

He sits up enough to slip his shirt over his head and Singer reaches out to trail his fingers over Cash's skin lightly. Cash grabs the hem of Singer's t-shirt, tugging it up until Singer lets him pull it all the way over his head. He rubs his own hands down Singer's chest, over his belly, and leans down to kiss him hard.

Cash pushes Singer's hair away from his face, breaks the kiss to drag his mouth across Singer's cheek. "So fucking hot," he breathes, and Singer makes a small noise.

They get rid of the rest of their clothes pretty quickly after that, Singer barely hesitating, blushing, before pushing his jeans down over his hips. Cash is surprised at how easily he slides them off because they'd looked tight. He grips Singer's hips, rubbing his thumb over Singer's hipbone. Singer's fingers wrap around his forearms, squeezing.

Singer flushes when Cash just sits there for a moment, eyes raking over his torso, but Cash doesn't stop. His eyes pause on Singer's dick, hard and curved up on his belly.

Singer bites his lip, says, "Move already."

Cash grins, looking up to meet Singer's eyes, and then he's wiggling down the bed and Singer's body, bending his head to take Singer into his mouth. Singer arches off the bed, moaning, just like the first time Cash had ever done this. He swallows Singer down slowly, as far as he can, sucking up with his lips wrapped tight around Singer's cock. Cash has to pin his hips to the bed, grip them in his hands. Singer's own hands grip Cash's shoulders, squeezing and kneading as if he were giving Cash a massage.

Cash pulls off, mouth making a pop as he does. Singer groans at the loss and Cash presses his mouth over Singer's hipbone, sucking a bruise into the skin. He has to get up quickly, stretching over Singer to reach into the bedside table and take out a bottle of lube.

Singer's eyes widen when he sees it, but he only nods when Cash raises his eyebrows, questioning. He kisses Singer once before moving back to settle between his legs.

Cash squeezes some out onto his fingers before dropping it to the bed, waiting until it’s a little warmer before stroking up Singer’s cock with one hand and rubbing a finger over his hole. Singer’s groan is a little strangled and a lot hot. Cash bites his lip and eases his finger in a circle, making sure to spread the lube around before pressing the tip of his finger in.

Singer squirms beneath him, moving his hips until Cash says, “Easier if you hold still.”

Singer is unnaturally still then and Cash doesn’t like that either so he drops his head to mouth at Singer’s cock, squeezing the base. It’s not long before he’s lapping at precome and licking at the slit to urge the flow faster. Singer groans shakily, fingers rubbing at Cash’s neck. 

Cash pushes his finger in then and Singer stops, hips arched towards Cash’s mouth, his body seemingly frozen. Cash looks up and his face is tight and not at all looking like he’s certain he wants this anymore.

He waits with his finger in Singer’s ass for a few seconds before Singer whispers, “Keep going.”

Cash has never heard anything more appealing in his life. He laps at the head of Singer’s dick again, swallowing around it and reveling in the nearly hysterical moan that earns him.

Cash eases another finger in and Singer tightens down instantly. Cash gives him a minute, lets him loosen his muscles and relax again but Cash can feel the tightness in his body, the way he’s struggling to open up and allow Cash to stretch him. He watches Singer’s reactions closely and when he widens his fingers, scissoring just slightly, he stops before Singer can even gasp, “No, no, don’t,” and push at his shoulders.

Singer closes his eyes, pushing his sweaty face into Cash’s pillow when Cash pulls out. “Singer?”

“Oh, god, sorry,” he whispers, opening his eyes but not looking at Cash. His curls are sweaty around his temples, sticking to his forehead and Cash reaches up with his clean hand to push them back. Singer looks at him then. “Shit, I’m sorry, I—”

Cash is painfully hard when he shakes his head, leans up over Singer and presses a kiss to his lips, but he tells him, “It’s fine. We can try later.”

“Later?” Singer looks mortified when his voice comes out high and feminine sounding.

Cash shakes his head and reaches down to squeeze himself, it’s starting to hurt the head of his cock where it’s rubbing against the thin trail of hair on Singer’s stomach; he’s way too sensitive. “Some other time.”

Singer bites his lip before he reaches down. “Let me.”

Cash nods quickly, even as Singer's fingers are already wrapping around his cock. He presses his forehead to Singer's shoulder, dropping down to hold himself up on his forearms over Singer. His fingers are a little tentative around Cash's dick, but he seems to gain confidence, fingers tightening and rhythmically rubbing his palm over the head of Cash's dick. Cash moans, fighting back the urge to bite Singer's collarbone, sink his teeth in just to focus on something other than the pleasure coursing through him.

Singer presses his lips to Cash's temple, his eyebrow. He moves his other hand to roll Cash's balls between his fingers, and that's it, Cash is gone, coming over Singer's fist and striping across his stomach.

Cash pants into Singer's skin, rubbing his head back and forth against Singer's chest. Singer seems at a loss as to what to do with his hand that's wet with Cash’s come, holding it out at his side awkwardly. His other hand pets the back of Cash's neck, rubs over his shoulders. He can still feel Singer's hard-on against his hip.

Cash pushes up enough to grab Singer's wrist. He pulls Singer's hand to his mouth, sucks two fingers in. Singer's eyes widen, lips parting as Cash begins licking his hand clean. Singer bites his lip, fingers pushing into Cash's shoulder. He can feel it when Singer's dick twitches between them, and he doesn't stop licking and sucking until hiss hand is completely clean, only wet with Cash's spit then.

Singer pulls his hand away, using the other one to tug Cash in and kiss him hard. It almost hurts and Cash knows that if his fangs had been down, he would've cut his mouth on them. He kisses Singer back, giving just as much.

Singer breaks the kiss, breath coming harshly. "Can you," he murmurs, and doesn’t finish. Cash gets it, though.

But he doesn't wrap his hand around Singer's dick, not like Singer probably expected. Instead, Cash crouches up over him, says, "Roll over," hand on Singer's side urging him to do just that.

Singer looks confused, brow furrowing. He opens his mouth, but, "Just trust me," Cash says, quietly.

Singer's jaw moves a little, as if he’s biting the inside of his cheek. Then he nods, turning over onto his stomach beneath Cash.

Cash moves down the bed, hands pushing Singer's legs open. Then he’s running his hands down Singer's back, fingers pushing in and he's palming his ass in both hands. He presses his thumbs in, spreading Singer, and Cash can feel the way he tenses but he just bends his head to lick a long stripe over Singer's hole.

Singer shouts, jerking forward away from Cash, but Cash just holds him in place. He repeats the move, licking again, light and teasing, making Singer groan; it sounds unsure but he doesn’t pull away.

Cash smiles, easing his thumb in and out of Singer’s ass before leaning down to lave his tongue flat against his wet entrance.

“Shit, Cash,” Singer groans, still hesitant sounding. “What—” Cash pulls his thumb out and Singer cuts himself off with a weak, disappointed moan.

Cash shushes him, placing both hands on Singer’s ass and holding him open. Singer’s thighs part further and Cash hears the rush of his breath leaving him when Cash points his tongue and pushes in as far as he can.

“Cash, Cash, please,” Singer gasps, legs beginning to shake. Cash brings a hand around to Singer’s cock and teases his fingers up and down the shaft. “Oh,” Singer whispers, head dropping down to press against his folded forearms. “Cash…”

Cash pushes his tongue in and out of Singer, over and over, until Singer is squirming towards and away from Cash's mouth. Like he wants more, but it might be too much. Cash squeezes harder on his dick, thumb rubbing over the head, fisting it tight from base to tip. Singer jerks on the bed, moaning again and Cash removes his tongue to lap at it lightly, circle his tongue around his hole.

Singer's face is still pressed into his arms, voice muffled. He's muttering nonsense, a moan escaping him every now and then, and it doesn't surprise Cash at all when he finally spills over Cash's fist and onto the sheets.

He keeps at it, fingers still milking the orgasm from him, tongue still fucking into Singer's ass, until Singer's groans sound more strained than they should. Then Cash pulls out, crawling up the bed to flop down next to Singer. He curves toward him, arm pulling Singer into him. Singer pants into his arms, still wrung out. Cash rubs his hand over Singer's back, soothing. He's almost half-hard, but not aroused enough to actually do anything about it.

Finally, Singer turns over under his arm, turns to face Cash. He wraps his own arm around Cash's waist, pulling him closer until there's really no space between them at all. His hair is sticking to his forehead, damp, and Cash pushes it away, tucks it behind his ear. His hand lingers, thumb brushing over Singer's cheek. Singer turns his head, kissing the heel of Cash's hand and Cash feels the strangest thing in his chest, something swelling uncomfortably.

"Sorry I freaked," Singer whispers. He's close enough that Cash can feel Singer's breath on his cheek.

Cash presses closer still, rubbing his nose against Singer's. "Stop apologizing."

Singer smiles, eyes closing. "Okay."

Cash tangles his fingers in Singer's hair, tilting his head up to press a kiss to Singer's forehead. He almost wants to say something to Singer, something stupid and scary and far too early. Instead, he presses his lips to Singer's forehead again, then his lips.

Singer's eyes are closed and Cash brushes his lips against them. Singer smiles tiredly, palming Cash's cheek and leaning in to kiss him lightly before relaxing into the pillow.

"This is so not going to help me pass my history midterm."

Cash laughs. It's barely even the middle of the night but he feels like he could sleep, so he drapes his arm around Singer's back and pulls him in closer, fingers stroking lightly over his sweaty skin. He closes his eyes and falls asleep counting Singer's heartbeats.

 

\--

 

Cash wakes up to hands on his arm shaking him. He hisses, fangs dropping instantly and he clutches the body in his arms tight against him.

"Cash," a voice—a familiar voice—snaps, shaking him again. He jerks upright, making Singer groan and blink a little up at the ceiling. “Cash, it’s after sunrise.”

That snaps him into reality. He’s able to focus then, Marshall standing over him and Singer and they’re both still naked. Cash reaches down and quickly tugs the comforter up from the foot of the bed and covers Singer with it; then he searches for the sweats he sleeps in.

“Shit,” he mumbles, heart racing and his jaw aching painfully. He needs to eat, which only makes him realize that his fangs are still out. “Shit,” he says again, forcing himself to relax enough to make them retract.

Marshall is staring at Singer, who is fully conscious now and staring right back. Cash tugs his pants on. “Marshall, please,” he pleads, looking back at Singer and then at Marshall again.

Marshall turns abruptly and leaves the room, closing the door loudly behind him.

Singer rubs at his forehead. “What’s that all about?” he asks, sitting up and leaning over the side of the bed for his boxers. Before Cash can answer, however, Singer’s phone is buzzing loudly from the floor and he nearly falls out of bed to retrieve it from his jeans. “Yeah?” he asks, voice thick and gravelly; Cash looks away, biting his lip. “Shit, shit, I—what time is it? Fuck, I so overslept. I’ll be there, chill out.” He curses a little when he snaps his phone shut and slides out from under the comforter.

Cash isn’t above staring at the nicely rounded curve of Singer’s ass before it’s covered quickly by his boxers and then jeans.

“Band practice. I fucking forgot to set my phone alarm.” He’s looking distractedly around on the floor for his shirt. “It’s dark as shit in here.” He reaches towards the window since it’s closer than the light switch and Cash vaults out of bed for it.

“Don’t,” he says, flipping the switch and making Singer blink in the sudden light. He stares at Cash and Cash wants to find a shirt to pull on almost as much as he wants to just stand there and let Singer look at him. Singer breaks first and grabs a shirt off the floor—it’s definitely one of Cash’s.

“Can I borrow this?” Cash nods. “Thanks. Shit, I am so late.” Singer drops down to grab his books, shoving them into his backpack.

Cash finally comes back to himself, the morning making him slow to react. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep for so long.”

“I didn’t mean to sleep at all.” Singer’s hand stills on the zipper of his backpack, looking up at the tight look on Cash’s face. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He stands up, shoving his feet into his shoes and pulling his backpack on. “I’m sorry, I wish I could stay.” He presses in close and Cash puts both hands on his waist, kissing him as hard as Singer kisses. “Walk me out?” he asks and Cash nods, pulling the door open and stepping out into the hall.

It’s then that he remembers that it’s daylight. “Shit,” he mumbles, turning back, “I can’t.”

Singer pauses. “Huh? Why?”

Cash has no idea what to say, it’s too hard to think of a lie or something plausible. “Can you let yourself out?” Singer stares, forehead bunching and mouth tightening. “Please,” Cash says, palming Singer’s neck and rubbing his thumb against his pulse. “I gotta talk to Marshall.”

Singer doesn’t move for a minute. He looks hurt and he twists his mouth up before blinking a few times too fast and turning. “Whatever.”

“Singer—”

“Goodbye, Cash.” Singer doesn’t turn as he says it and Cash waits where he stands in the hall, shoulders slumped and chest tight until he hears the door slam shut.

 

\--

 

Cash sleeps heavily that day. He wakes in the late evening with the shirt Singer left behind clutched in his fist. He rolls onto his back, eyes fixed to the ceiling when he wakes up. His head still aches and he's hungrier than he's been in awhile, but still, he lays there.

He calls Singer then. Twice. Singer doesn't answer either time, and Cash barely stops himself from pitching the phone at the wall.

Why hadn't anyone woken them up? It'd been some time after sunup when Marshall had appeared at their bedside, he could feel it. And he has a sinking feeling his chest, a sneaking suspicion, that it was a certain long-limbed, long-haired person that had kept anyone from waking them up.

Cash goes out alone that night. He ignores everyone as he leaves, forcing himself to not even look at William.

He ends up accidentally taking his anger out on the person he feeds from, teeth sinking in far too viciously. Even after he laves his tongue over the wound, making the skin mends itself with his spit, there's a shadow of a bruise there. It's dangerous for him to be leaving marks on people, something he hasn't done since he was first turned. The mistake only fuels his anger.

He wanders aimlessly around the city that night, hardly ever glancing up from the ground. He'd go to Singer's house if only he knew where Singer lived. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, causing several people to curse at him, give him dirty looks.

The realization that he doesn't even know where Singer lives makes him feel almost sick. Maybe Gabriel was right. How much do he and Singer really know about each other? Why the fuck does he even have a hope of Singer not freaking and running away? Why does he think Singer would ever give his life for Cash?

But, then again, Cash thinks as he starts walking again, he knows how he feels around Singer. He knows what Singer inspires in him. He's seen something similar in Singer's eyes, he thinks. And that should be enough.

 

\--

 

Singer's band's show the next day is mostly in the afternoon. Cash braves the twilight to get to the venue, duck inside the place only to catch the last of their set. His eyes hurt, head aching once again, even though the place is dimly lit.

He can see the exact moment Singer notices him towards the back, his eyes widening, then narrowing. He doesn't look at Cash again.

The band walks off the stage and Singer does what he does with the fans that are still sticking around. He poses with them for pictures, signs the few things they shove at him. Cash waits not too far off, leaning against a wall with his arms folded against his chest. Singer still doesn't look at him, doesn't turn to glare over his shoulder, but Cash still thinks that his smile looks a little strained.

As soon as the last person is done talking to him, he stalks toward the exit. Cash has to actually run a little bit to catch up with him. He grabs Singer's arm, pulling him back.

"Hey, come on," Cash says. "Just wait a minute."

Singer yanks his arm away from Cash's hand, but he turns around, arms crossed. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry, okay?" Cash says. He ducks his head to meet Singer's gaze when he avoids it, eyes fixed to the ground between them. Singer rolls his eyes. "My fucking roommates were being dicks, I had to go—"

"You couldn't even walk me out after I—" Singer stops, cutting himself off. He shakes his head. "You gonna blame every wrong thing you do on your roommates?"

Cash groans a little, rubbing his hand over his face. "Look, I can't tell you why I couldn't walk you out."

Singer looks down again. "I knew you weren't telling me something," he mutters.

Cash bites his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood. He has to tell Singer, he knows that, but now's not the time. Now's not right.

When Cash doesn't say anything else Singer says, "Forget it," and turns around quickly. He's out the door before Cash can make himself follow, heavy feeling his chest.

Only, someone blocks the doorway. It's Singer's drummer, the other Alex. He's glaring at Cash, mouth tight. He has a pair of drumsticks clutched in one fist and Cash eyes them.

He goes to step around Johnson, but Johnson only blocks him again. He lifts the hand with the drumsticks to Cash's chest, keeping him from moving forward. Cash almost hisses.

"Leave him alone," Johnson says, voice low and tight. "He doesn't need you... doing whatever bullshit you've been doing. Back the fuck off."

Cash is a little taken aback by the warning, the emotion behind it. He wonders if Singer said anything to the guy. He wonders what Singer was like at that practice after leaving the loft.

"You don't know what's going on between us," Cash says.

Johnson mouth twists. "And I don't think I want to." 

Cash doesn't move and neither does Johnson. His hand tightens around the drumsticks.

Cash takes a step back. He needs to figure things out at home before they can be right with Singer, anyway. He can wait.

He takes another step back, mock saluting Johnson. Johnson leaves, going out the same door that Singer went through. Cash heads home.

 

\--

 

No one is home when Cash gets back to the loft. He’d fed twice on the walk back, nearly killing the last guy. It’s been decades since he’s killed someone and it makes him feel sick that it’s because of Singer, because he fucked up and now Singer is pissed and hurt because of him that he’s so angry.

He slumps down on the couch but stands up again almost immediately. He and Singer made out on that couch. Cash looks down at the other, where Gabriel had given William an extremely public handjob recently and turns away disgusted.

Cash heads for the bathroom and strips down to shower. The water is scalding but he needs it, needs that to make himself feel less like a total shit. He scrubs himself down three times before climbing out. He can hear the guys returning home. A pause to discern who tells him Ian and Marshall and hereally doesn’t want to talk to them about this either so he waits in the bathroom until they stumble down the hall and into their bedroom.

He can hear them going at it through the door, when he steps out of the bathroom and quickly heads out for the living room. He forces himself to sit down on the couch he and Singer had last touched on—the lesser of two evils—and waits for William.

It’s just before dawn when they come in, Gabriel laughing, sounding tired with his arm around William’s shoulders. He stumbles a little with each step and Cash narrows his eyes at them. William meets his gaze but only stares back before helping Gabriel down the hall.

He waits, he knows William will come back and when he does, it’s without Gabriel.

“Is he all right?” Cash asks, voice more concerned than he means it to be.

William spares him a look before coming around to sit on the other couch and crossing one long leg over the other before he gives Cash his attention.

“He’s fine.”

When William doesn’t volunteer more than that Cash sits forward on the couch and lets his eyes narrow a little. “Why didn’t you wake us up before dawn?”

“I haven’t a clue what you mean, Cassius.”

William’s calm, even tone makes Cash’s face hurt with the throb of his fangs and he curls his fingers in the cushions he’s sitting on. “Playing stupid doesn’t suit you. It never has.”

William considers him for a while before shaking his hair back from his shoulders and saying, “How dare you bring a human in here.”

That—Cash really wasn’t expecting that. “What?”

“You know little to nothing about this boy and yet you put everyone at risk by bringing him in here and falling asleep beside him, no less.”

Cash grits his teeth, anger boiling in his stomach. “Singer would never hurt me.”

William shakes his head, tisking in a way that is so condescending that Cash wants to lunge forward and tear into him with his fingers and teeth. “You’re foolish and young.”

“What do you have against him?” Cash demands, voice rising and he just hopes Ian and Marshall are still too busy fucking to be listening; the last thing he wants is their interference or them dispelling the situation. He’s been aching for this fight almost as much as William so obviously has.

“My issue,” William says, unfolding his long legs and standing, “is that he’s after one of my own and I haven’t so much as had his hand in mine.”

Cash stands abruptly. He isn’t nearly as tall as William but he feels more at ease standing before him than sitting. “I don’t want you telling him anything before I’m ready for him to know.”

“And when will that be, Cash?” William growls, fingers latching onto Cash’s arm and digging in hard. “I could smell the two of you. You’ve fucked him in my house before I know anything about him.”

Cash knocks his hand away. “You have no right—”

“I have every right,” William snarls, grabbing Cash around the throat and squeezing. Cash feels his air supply narrowed so quickly his knees almost give out. William holds him upright.

“I’m not yours,” Cash gasps, fingernails clawing at William’s wrist. William grabs one of Cash’s hands in his and pulls it away, fingers still curling at the skin of Cash’s neck.

William pulls him close so that he’s practically speaking into Cash’s hair. “You’ve always been mine and you will always be mine.” Cash stops pulling at William’s hand. “You’re my blood.”

“Ian made me,” Cash gasps again, feeling more and more lightheaded from the combination of no oxygen and William’s words. “I’m his, if anyone’s.”

William kisses Cash’s forehead, brushing his lips back and forth. Cash imagines his eyes are closed with as intimate as he makes it seem. William’s fingers loosen just slightly and Cash’s vision stops blacking out.

“No,” William says simply. “You are all mine. None of you would exist without me. You are mine,” he’s nearly whispering when he lets Cash go.

Cash stumbles back, almost falling into the coffee table as he rubs at his throat. He’s vaguely glad he won’t bruise from William’s grip but he’s too busy staring at William to think about it too much. The only thing his mind wants to focus on is the fact that William is worried about him; afraid of him leaving or turning Singer, but mostly worried. About Cash.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, voice harsh from William’s grip.

William is quiet for a long time before he steps forward and gently pulls Cash’s hands from his own throat and brushes gentle fingertips over the flushed skin. “You think because you were made last that you don’t matter. That you’re less of me because I didn’t choose you.” Cash’s eyes fall shut because they’re burning and he just doesn’t want to consider what it means. William’s lips place gentle kisses on either side of his throat. “I’d have been just as critical of Marshall had I been around before Ian fell in love with him.” William’s voice is hard and a little bitter but Cash doesn’t question, just lets William cradle him closer. “More so because Ian was mine. We were given no time to make a proper decision.”

“I know,” Cash whispers, mostly because he just wants to say something. He doesn’t want William to stop talking.

“You’ve been holding yourself together on your affair with them.” Cash tenses but William doesn’t stop stroking his neck. Cash knows the truth in that statement; knows he’d have fallen apart long ago if they hadn’t reached back when he was reaching out. “If this boy is it, you tell him or you stop seeing him.” William tilts his head back and Cash opens his eyes. “Don’t make me do it for you.”

Cash is able to shake his head before dropping it, pressing his face into William’s chest and squeezing his eyes shut. William wraps both arms around him and pets at his hair.

William doesn’t let go until Cash does.

 

\-- 

 

Cash makes several more calls that Singer ignores. He remembers that Singer will be having exams this week, so he's probably awfully busy with those. Cash thinks that, and hopes.

Until Singer answers though, he's pretty sure he's the worst person to be around. He locks himself in his room most of the time, mostly only leaving the loft to feed. Things with William are okay again, but he needs to talk to Marshall. Ian must think so too because he shoves Marshall into Cash's room one night, closing the door too quickly for Marshall to get back out again.

"Get over yourselves," Ian yells through the door, and Marshall tenses like he might spring at the door and break it down to get out. He lets out a heavy breath finally, though, and turns on his heel to face Cash.

"William didn't want anyone to wake you up before sunrise," Marshall says, expression determined.

Cash knows that now. He sits up on the bed, leaning against the wall behind himself. "Why'd you listen to him?" Marshall doesn't answer, eyes focused on the wall behind Cash's right shoulder. Cash scoffs. "Seriously? You're jealous?"

Cash had mostly been guessing, taking a stab in the dark, but the way Marshall's fists clench, eyes sliding shut for a moment says it all. It gives Cash pause.

"Can you blame me?" Marshall asks, almost sullenly. "I have all of your attention for all this time, and then this other person comes along." He shrugs, mouth twisting. "What do you expect?"

Cash shakes his head. "You said it yourself, Marsh. You can't give me what I need. What I want."

Marshall sighs. He walks toward the bed, crawling up it to sit beside Cash. He drops an arm across Cash's shoulders. "Exactly. Which is why you need to work things out with the boy."

Cash blinks hard, lifting a hand to rub across his eyes. "I'm working on it."

Marshall brings him close, arm squeezing and kisses the side of Cash's head. "You do that."

"Are you okay?" Cash asks.

"You know I am," Marshall says. He presses his forehead to Cash's temple. "I was just selfish for a little while."

Cash wraps his arms around Marshall, hugging him close. Marshall hugs him back just as hard.

 

\--

 

He doesn't get through until the next weekend, on a Friday night. Singer answers his phone with a wary, "Hello?"

Cash breathes his huge sigh of relief away from the phone, his fingers clenching in the bed sheets beside him. "You answered," he says.

"No shit," Singer says. He sounds uncomfortable, like maybe he's not sure why he picked up the phone.

"I'm glad you did," Cash says quietly.

Singer's end is nearly silent for a moment. "What do you want, Cash?"

Cash tips his head back to stare at the ceiling. "I have something I need to tell you."

He can hear the careful breath Singer lets out on the other end. "What is it?"

Cash shakes his head, even though Singer can't see him. "I have to tell you in person."

"No." He says it quickly, and Cash tries not to let it deter him.

"Please," Cash says. "We can meet up somewhere." He almost suggests that Singer comes over, only before realizing what a stupid idea that would be. "I could come over to your place?"

Singer's quiet again, but at least he isn't hanging up on him, Cash thinks.

"I need to see you," Cash says.

Cash is pretty sure he's going to say no, but, "Okay," Singer says, slow.

Cash grins, painfully relieved again. 

He gets Singer's address from him and is there barely a half hour after getting off the phone with him. He makes sure to feed twice on the way over.

The house is empty, Singer's family's out of town. Singer answers the door, expression stony. He steps aside and lets Cash in, though.

"Hey," Cash says.

"Hey," Singer says back, mostly staring at the floor. He glances up at Cash quickly. "We should go to my room."

Cash follows Singer up the stairs. He manages not to stare at Singer in front of him, or have too many inappropriate thoughts. He's mostly successful.

Singer's room isn't really anything like Cash imagined, but probably only because he hadn't really thought about it before. Singer sits on his bed, hands under his thighs, not before gesturing for Cash to sit at his desk chair.

Cash sits down, rubbing his palms on his thighs. "I'm sorry," he says, again.

Singer says, "Yeah, I got that much."

Cash shakes his head. "You don't know why I couldn't at least walk you out. It's a good reason."

Singer looks exasperated. "I thought that's the whole reason you came here. So that I could know."

Cash ignores the last. "Do you still have feelings for me?" he asks.

Singer looks almost bewildered by the change of subject. "That's not what we're talking about."

"Answer the question," Cash says. He hesitates a little before standing up and heading for the bed. Singer tenses when he sees Cash stand up, but doesn't move away. He doesn't even move when Cash sits beside him, close enough that their thighs brush. 

"Do you still want to be with me? I should probably know this before I tell you anything else."

Singer looks upset, embarrassed maybe. His cheeks are slightly red and he tilts his head so that his hair slides forward to hide his face. Cash tucks it back behind one ear, carefully. Singer doesn't turn away.

"Yeah," Singer finally mumbles. "Yes. You think you'd be here right now if I didn't?"

Cash doesn't try to hide his stupid grin then, and Singer looks up through his lashes to see it. He huffs a little, mouth twitching.

Cash leans forward a bit, into Singer's space. "That's good, because I really, really like you. A lot. Like, an embarrassing amount."

Singer blushes even more, ducking his head to hide his expression. Cash leans over even more, until his nose nearly touches Singer's cheek. He wants to see Singer smile at him again, needs to see Singer smile at him again.

Cash can hear Singer's heartbeat speeding up some. It gives him a kind of thrill to know that he can still affect Singer this way.

"What are you going to tell me?" Singer asks, nearly a whisper. He sways the tiniest bit into Cash, and Cash places a hand behind them on the bed so that he lean closer and not lose his balance.

"It's really something very important," Cash says, and brushes his lips against Singer's cheek. He kisses Singer's jaw, just under his ear, then the corner of his mouth. Singer turns quickly then, catching Cash's mouth in a kiss.

It feels like they melt into each other, Singer arms going around Cash's shoulders, and Cash's arms going around his waist, almost pulling Singer into his lap.

Singer moves the rest of the way himself, straddling Cash and running both hands up his neck and into his short hair; it’s not enough to fist his hands in but he rubs his fingertips into Cash’s scalp and Cash practically purrs. Cash leans back, breaking the kiss with a wet sound that makes his dick twitch. He presses his thumbs into the sharp cut of Singer’s hips and Singer rocks forward against him.

Cash looks down. Singer’s up on his knees a little, already hard, straining in his tight jeans and Cash slides his palm over Singer’s impossibly flat stomach, pushing his shirt up enough to drag his fingers against warm skin before dropping to cup and rub at Singer’s cock.

Singer lets out a low, strangled sounding groan and arches into the touch. Cash smiles, leaning in to nuzzle against Singer’s chest, squeezing the hard line of his erection through his jeans.

“You smell amazing,” Cash whispers. His jaw aches and he ignores it, pushing all thoughts of the blood rushing through Singer’s veins away and moves his hand a little faster.

“I didn’t shower today,” Singer laughs breathlessly, his fingers curling before dropping down to clutch at his shoulders. “If you like that, I should marry you.”

Cash can feel how he tenses, wants to berate himself for speaking but Cash just hardens faster. “I love the way you smell,” Cash whispers, kissing at his chest.

Singer grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it up over his head so that Cash’s lips brush his flushed skin instead of fabric. He pants a little when he says, “I love the way you feel.” Cash looks up, Singer’s cheeks are red even in the soft light from his bedside lamp. Cash unbuttons his jeans without looking and reaches inside, carefully easing Singer’s cock out and stroking lightly. Singer groans weakly, clutching at Cash’s arms and rolling his hips up into the touch. “Never thought…” he shakes his head, licking his lips and closing his eyes. Cash watches the smooth curve of his throat as he swallows and tightens his hand on Singer’s dick. “Never thought I’d like it.”

“Like what?” Cash asks, voice low and scratchy sounding. He knows what Singer is talking about but the sound of it, the way he speaks, his voice makes Cash want to turn them over and rut against Singer in the most base way possible.

“This,” Singer gasps when Cash thumbs the damp head of his cock. “You know, you know what I mean.”

Cash rubs his face against Singer’s chest, presses his ear to his ribs and listens to his heart. “Tell me,” Cash whispers urgently.

Singer groans and begins thrusting a little into Cash’s fist. “A guy. I never thought I’d like another dick on mine.” Cash nods, not even hearing anything but the steadily increasing throb of singer’s heart. “Maybe, not even—no, you. Just you.”

Cash licks at Singer’s chest before kissing, scraping his teeth along the skin and it’s so dangerous but he doesn’t care. He turns Singer over onto his back and climbs on top of him, sealing their lips together.

Singer kisses him back just as hard. His legs wrap around Cash's waist, pulling him even closer. Cash grinds down, their dicks lining up through the fabric of Cash's jeans for one perfect moment. Singer makes soft, sweet noises, rolling his hips up as much as possible.

Cash runs his hand down Singer's side, down smooth hot skin. His hips jerk when Singer sucks on his tongue. Singer tries to pull him back when he breaks the kiss, hands on the back of Cash's neck.

Cash sits up enough to yank his shirt over his head. He has to roll away from Singer, onto his back, to shove his jeans down. Singer does the same, and then Cash is rolling back on top of him, both of them finally naked. Singer groans at the way their cocks slide together, breaking the kiss to throw his head back against the pillows. Cash presses his face between Singer's neck and shoulder, nose more against the bed than Singer's neck. He can't stop himself from breathing in deeply, taking in Singer's scent where it's woven through the thread of the sheets. His cocks jerks against Singer's.

Singer's hands squeeze at his shoulders, push at his back. "Wait, wait," he says, sounding breathless already.

Cash reaches a hand between them, wrapping it around both of their cocks and squeezing. Singer bites at one shoulder and it only makes Cash work his hand more quickly.

"Stop," Singer hisses.

Cash nearly groans. He is so incapable of stopping right then, but he stills his hand, propping himself up on an elbow. "What?"

Singer is red-faced, lips wet and swollen from their kisses. His eyes are wide and bright, and Cash has to lean down and kiss him again. Slide his tongue past Singer's parted lips, lick at the roof of his mouth. Singer lets him, hand palming the back of Cash's head again. Cash rubs his thumb around the crown of Singer's cock.

Then he's pushing at Cash's shoulders again. Singer breaks the kiss, says, "If you want to, we could. You know. We could try again," Singer says, and he barely meets Cash's eyes when he says it, mostly mumbling.

Cash stills again. He bites his lip. "You sure?"

Singer's brow furrows and he purses his lips. "Yes; I brought it up, didn't I?"

Cash grins, closing the little bit of space between them to kiss Singer hard, kiss away the slight frown.

Cash doesn’t think good and yes, yes, absolutely doesn’t. He gets to his knees, pushing Singer’s thighs apart with his own and sticking two fingers into his mouth. Cash can feel Singer’s eyes on him, watches the way he watches Cash. And Cash makes a show of it, pushing both of his fingers in and out of his mouth slowly, rhythmically until Singer groans and pulls at his elbow.

“Come on,” he whines a little.

Cash smirks, pulling his fingers from his mouth and brushing them against Singer’s lips. “Lick,” he instructs. It takes Singer a moment before his tongue slides out and adds to the wetness of Cash’s fingers. Cash nudges them between Singer’s lips, easing them in and out of his mouth until Singer whimpers and then reaches down between them, rubbing them against his hole.

“I don’t suppose you have anything,” Cash says, biting at his lip, pressing the tips of his fingers against Singer’s entrance.

Singer shakes his head, jerkily, twisting his hips up. “I can—I can get something. Lotion?”

Cash nearly growls, pushing Singer back down onto the bed when he props himself up on his elbows. “No, it’s fine.”

Cash pushes a finger in and Singer cries out, eyes clenching and fingers digging into Cash’s forearms. “Won’t it hurt more?” Singer’s question sounds fearful and that’s the last thing Cash wants.

He drops his head and nuzzles his cheek against Singer’s before brushing their lips together. “It’ll be good.” Singer blinks at him a moment before Cash wraps Singer’s flagging erection in his other hand and starts stroking. His eyes fall shut and Cash kisses him.

Their tongues brush together, mouths getting wetter and sliding against each other’s until Cash is mostly just sucking at Singer’s bottom lip and his tongue. Singer just lays there, mouth open and focused on breathing while Cash pulls at his cock, working both fingers inside of him, stretching and scissoring.

Cash keeps him as focused on everything else as he can, thumbing the head of his dick and nipping at his lips when he’s not kissing them. Singer finally shifts, pushing down and lifting his hips a little, opening himself further and Cash groans, rubbing the tip of a third finger against where his other two disappear into Singer’s body.

Singer relaxes slowly, fingers loosening their grip on Cash's forearms. They loosen until he slides them up and over Cash's shoulder, cupping the sides of his neck.

"Good," Cash whispers, lips still brushing Singer's as he does. Singer nods, eyes closed.

Cash slips in the third finger and Singer hands squeeze a little. But he doesn't tense. Cash moves his fingers slowly, in and out, in and out, until Singer is biting his lip. Cash stretches them a little, and Singer makes a sound that isn't exactly bad. Singer is so hot around his hand, still so tight.

"Okay," Singer says. He moves his hand to pull at Cash's, pull him out of Singer's body.

Cash kisses Singer, their tongues sliding together. Then he's pulling away to spit into his hand, stroke himself and spread the wetness. Singer glances down between them, bites his lip. Cash wants to ask him if he’s sure again, but he bites it back. Singer'd probably just get annoyed by it.

Cash guides the head of his dick to press against Singer and Singer spreads his legs more, making it easier. He pushes in slowly, so slowly, and Singer breathes heavy and steady. His eyes are closed, and Cash can tell how hard he's trying not to tense up. Cash keeps pushing, hips working forward in little increments until he in as far as he can go.

Singer makes a tiny noise, frowning. Cash leans up on his elbows to kiss his mouth, cheeks, forehead. He waits and waits, keeping his body as still as he can. Singer's feels fucking fantastic around him, and it's almost difficult to not give in, start thrusting and thrusting. He waits.

Singer opens his eyes, hand to the side of Cash's face. He nods, eyes dropping to Cash's mouth when he licks his lower lip. Cash pulls out a little, then pushes back in. It's such a small movement, but still Singer clenches his eyes shut. Cash kisses him hard, tries to distract him from where their bodies join with his tongue.

“Good,” Cash whispers, “doing so good.” Singer whimpers, breathing too fast and Cash kisses slowly down his neck, pulling his hips back and pushing in again.

“Hurts,” Singer hisses, unnecessarily.

Cash strokes at his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. He doesn’t bother saying I know, he just works to make it better. When he’s in all the way he rotates his hips, working to loosen him up. Singer whines a little with each withdrawal and moans quietly with each push forward.

Slowly Singer starts to relax, hooks his feet against Cash’s calves, pushes up just slightly into the movement and Cash feels himself tense. Singer wants it. Cash groans in relief, thrusting just a little quicker, a little more steadily until Singer is mostly just moving with him, mouth open, sweet sounds filtering out. It’s still a little hard, his body is tight and clenches when Cash bottoms out, but it feels good, feels amazing like nothing ever has before. Not even Marshall.

Cash clenches his eyes and buries his face in the pillow, facing Singer’s cheek. He picks up the pace again and Singer claws at his back. “Cash,” he breathes warningly, but Cash just keeps pushing, holding Singer in place and bringing his other hand down to Singer’s side, to the small of his back. He pushes Singer up into him, the wet head of his cock skidding along Cash’s belly with each move.

Singer cries out, arching up, as though he’d forgotten about his own erection until just then. He squirms a hand between them and grabs it.

Singer gets in three good strokes before Cash knocks his hand away, wraps his own fist around Singer's dick. Singer's arms slide up around his shoulders, pulling him down so that they can kiss. Cash has to prop himself up on one elbow, and it's more difficult to move this way. He can't thrust as easily, but he makes it work, hips pushing his cock into Singer's body.

Cash squeezes hard, hand working Singer's cock. Singer writhes a little, arching up into Cash's hand, pushing down onto his cock. Cash jerks forward as Singer clenches around his cock. He groans into the kiss, fucking Singer faster.

"Feel fucking amazing," Cash whispers and Singer turns his head away, hair fanning out more on the pillow. It bares his neck to Cash, and it would take a stronger person than him to not bury his face there, attach his mouth to Singer's skin. His fangs descend, of course they do. Cash just scrapes them across Singer's throat, then yanks his head away

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Cash chants. He bows his head, until his forehead touches Singer's clavicle. He licks his lips, over his fangs, nearly cutting his tongue. He's close, so close, they both are. He can tell by the way Singer's moving beneath him, by the way Singer's making a noise on almost every exhale. Cash jerks him even faster and Singer spurts over Cash's fist.

Cash finally manages to pull his fangs up, but they're still the tiniest bit extended. His teeth probably look a little different, but not anything that Singer will notice. Probably. Cash pulls himself up onto both forearms, bracing and thrusting into Singer harder than ever.

Singer has practically melted into the bed, loose and pliant. Cash stares down between their bodies, can just see his dick disappearing into Singer over and over, before Singer pulls his face up, hand on Cash's jaw. He looks embarrassed, maybe.

"Don't," he whispers, and Cash grins a little. Singer's eyes drop to his mouth. Cash fucks him hard enough that their skin makes a sharp sound when it meets. Singer's eyes clench shut.

Cash pants harshly, tangling his fingers in Singer’s hair and holding his hip with the other hand, leaning his weight on one elbow. He drops his gaze again, watching himself sliding in and out of Singer’s body.

He groans. They look amazing together. It feels incredible; this is it, he knows. It’s all he wants. Singer is all he wants. If he can’t have him—

The thought cuts off when he jerks forward, Singer crying out at the force, and comes, hurrying to press his hips in as far as he can go and kisses Singer’s open mouth. Cash thrusts through it, the aftershocks making him cringe; Singer’s body squeezes him painfully but he doesn’t stop.

It isn’t until he stills, groans weakly, that he realizes what’s happened. He forces himself to keep his head down on Singer’s chest until his fangs are safely back and pulls out. Singer groans, curling up a little, when he does.

“Shit,” Cash breathes, falling beside him on the bed. He tosses his arm over his eyes and just breathes for a second. He makes himself look, turn to Singer and pull him over against his chest. Singer makes a distressed sound, wincing at the movement, but he comes, tucks himself tightly against Cash even though Singer’s body is practically overheating and they’re both a wet, sticky mess but Cash doesn’t care, doesn’t want to move. He kisses Singer’s forehead and then tilts his head back and kisses his lips, hard and damp.

Singer groans, hand on his jaw and kissing back. He knows it’s coming, knows it and wants it at the same time he knows it’s probably not true when Singer breathes, “I love you,” into his mouth.

Cash shuts his eyes, tilting his own head up and tucking Singer's under his chin. Singer tries to wriggle even closer, one leg thrown over Cash's hip. It's pretty much inaudible when Cash whispers, "You don't mean it," into Singer's hair, the words more air than sound. Then, louder, "I love you too."

He can feel Singer's cheek bunching against his chest, feel his grin. Cash smiles a little, arm tightening around Singer's shoulders.

Singer props himself up on his elbow suddenly, other hand lifting to palm Cash's cheek. He rubs his thumb across Cash's bottom lip and Cash grins, biting lightly at the tip of his finger. Singer smiles too, eyes still fixed on Cash's mouth.

"It was weird," Singer murmurs. "I swore I saw you..." He trails off, biting his lip. He shakes his head to himself. "You should tell me now. The thing, whatever you wanted to tell me, just say it."

Cash tries to clear his mind, get rid of any rather stupid, lingering feelings. He thinks, now or never, and allows his fangs to descend.

Singer tenses. His eyes widen, and he feels tight enough to snap. He looks up at Cash, lips parted.

"That's what I didn't tell you," Cash says. Sometimes, it's strange talking around the fangs, sometimes they give him a lisp. He's managed to talk around them fairly well over time. He waits for Singer to freak out.

“Holy shit,” Singer whispers, fear quickly falling over his features. He pulls back and Cash lets him go when he stumbles up from the bed, grabbing his boxers from the floor. He puts most of the distance of the room between them but he doesn’t run away.

Cash sits up slowly reaching down off the bed for his boxers and jeans, pulling them on but leaving them unbuttoned. He sits on the side of the bed, licks at his bottom lip before looking back at Singer, who is standing beside his desk looking just this side of panicked.

Cash has no idea what to say to calm him down; he’s never done this before.

“Your roommates,” he says, voice shaky.

“Them too,” Cash says quietly, sighing when he picks his shirt up off the floor and pulling it down over his head; he buttons his jeans.

Singer just keeps staring at him, leaning heavily on the desk; Cash imagines he’s sore.

“You probably want me to leave,” Cash mutters, rubbing his hands against his thighs and standing. Singer jerks back again, hand coming out to steady himself on the chair.

He doesn’t say anything though, doesn’t stop Cash until he’s pulling open the bedroom door.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Singer asks quietly. “Why now?”

Cash can smell Singer’s fear, but it’s definitely not the only thing he can scent. He pauses, looks back at Singer. “I can’t tell you,” he says, “how long I’ve waited for you.”

Singer stares back, jaw tight as he thinks, rolling his lips inward as he looks away and Cash thinks maybe he looks like he’s about to cry. “This is so fucked,” Singer says, rubbing at his own forearm. He looks back at Cash. “Why—what do you want?”

Cash thinks about lying, he really does, but what’s the point? “Probably exactly what you’re thinking.”

It’s a long time and Singer blinking too rapidly, rubbing his hand across his eyes, before he says, “I think you should leave.”

Singer meets his eyes when he says it and Cash can feel the painful contractions of his heart, but it doesn’t sound like he’s losing him. Not yet, at least. “All right,” Cash says. “Is it—can I call you?”

Singer bites his lip and looks down at his bare feet. “I think you should let me call you.”

Cash bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. “All right,” he whispers. Singer looks back at him, face pained and body tense. “I meant it, though,” Cash tells him, hand on the doorframe. “Whatever else, I meant it.”

“Please leave,” Singer whispers.

Cash doesn’t look back.

 

\-- 

 

If it was bad when Singer was first angry at him, it's pretty terrible with Cash not even knowing if Singer is ever going to speak to him again. Cash is miserable, and holes up in his room for too long at a time. He remembers one night that he might not have even gotten up to feed if Marshall hadn't physically dragged him from his bed and out of the loft.

And, what's worse is, he feels stupid for feeling miserable. He should've fucking known that Singer wouldn't just accept it right away. He should've known Singer wouldn't just be fine and dandy with him. And, okay, maybe he had kind of known that. But he'd still stupidly held out hope.

Marshall lays with him one night, and it's quiet enough on the other side of Cash's door that he can't tell if the others are there or if they've left.

Marshall presses his palm to Cash back lightly, fingers trailing up and down. Cash doesn't acknowledge him. Marshall scoots closer, until Cash can feel his skin buzzing with the lack of space between them.

Cash thinks Marshall is going to say something. Anything. He doesn't, though, and the amount of relief Cash feels at that is enough to make the tension fly from his body, make him sigh a little into his pillow.

Cash relaxing that little bit must be enough for Marshall because he closes the space between them, throws an arm and a leg over Cash and pulls him close. Cash doesn't even try to resist, turning over under him and pressing as close as possible. Marshall just pets the back of his neck, other hand rubbing the small of his back. Cash shuts his eyes tight enough that red appears behind his eyelids.

Even if it is fairly early that evening, he falls asleep in Marshall's arms and isn't quite surprised when he wakes up with Ian at his back, hand tucked under the waistband of Cash's underwear.

He actually leaves the house that night with them to feed. He ignores the looks they send him, both curious and worried, and only answers in grunts and monosyllabic words, that is, if he answers at all.

He basically plans on moping for who knows how long, torture himself with thoughts and memories of Singer, drown himself in his waiting. But William enters his room one night, seemingly intent on destroying that plan.

He stands at the foot of Cash's bed, and though the room is dark, the only light coming from hallway through the open door, Cash can still see William clearly. He puts his hands on his hips, eyeing Cash's room with obvious distaste. It's beyond messy.

"Are you really going to continue ignoring me?" William asks and cocks an eyebrow at Cash.

Cash hasn't said anything to William since he got back that night, has barely looked at him. He's maybe a little bitter that William forced him to tell Singer sooner than he had to, even if he'd been right in doing so. He's maybe a little bitter that William did have every right to be wary of Singer. He's thought about it enough, he realizes that now.

William tilts his head. "I doubt you can keep it up for as long as you think."

That is probably true, Cash thinks. He turns over onto his side, away from William. The bed hardly moves as William crawls up on it, when he lays himself behind Cash. Cash glares at the wall in front of him.

"At least tell me what it is I did," William says. He trails light, tickling fingers across Cash's bare side. Cash tries not to react to it.

"I told him," Cash says, and he's not sure what surprises him more. The rough sound of his voice, or that he even answered.

"I know that," William says. He tilts his head to press his forehead to the top of Cash's spine.

Cash closes his eyes. "I'm not sure he's going to talk to me again. Ever."

William presses his lips to Cash's neck and Cash shivers. "Then he doesn't deserve you," William says.

Cash only wishes it were as easy as telling himself that.

 

\--

 

Singer shows up on a Thursday. Cash can hear the door open from his room, but doesn’t give it thought. Then Gabriel is popping up in his doorway.

"Your boy's here," he says, and Cash sits straight up on the bed. "William answered the door," he adds, before disappearing as soon as he'd showed up.

That makes Cash leap from the bed, almost stumbling as he gets to his feet. He yanks a shirt over his head, walking in the direction of the front door.

William is blocking most of the doorway, hissing at Singer, but Cash can still see him over William's shoulder. He looks determined, if more than a little freaked out.

Cash rushes forward, squeezing past William to pull Singer inside by the arm. He looks relieved to see Cash there, pressing close to his side. Cash tries not to think about that too much.

William looks angry, eyes narrowed. It's tense and Cash is considering just running for his room and pulling Singer after himself, but William turns away. He waves his hand at Gabriel then walks out the door without another word. Gabriel follows after, sending an exaggerated wink in Cash's direction.

Cash breathes out hard, relieved. He pulls Singer to his room before William can change his mind and come back.

Cash closes the door behind them and is suddenly bombarded with what happened, the memories, why Singer might be here. He drops Singer's hand quickly, crossing the room to lean against his desk, fold his arms over his chest. He waits.

Singer looks nervous, his heartbeat a little erratic. Cash can't blame him; William can be pretty scary.

"Yeah?" Cash asks when Singer still hasn't said anything.

Singer bites his lip, closing his eyes. "So I guess that's the reason I only ever saw you at night?"

Cash nods, mouth tight.

"God," Singer breathes. "Okay, that was a stupid question." He tugs his hand through his hair roughly. "This is so weird."

Cash says nothing, eyes dropping to the floor in front of him. He tugs at the sleeve of his shirt.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to come by," Singer says. He sounds like he means it. "I just..." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

Cash nods again, blinking hard. "So what does this mean? You coming over here?"

Singer exhales hard. Then he walks across the room, stepping over all of Cash's crap. Cash can feel his palms begin to sweat, his head aches a little from the nervousness that crashes over him just then. Singer doesn't stop until he's right in front Cash, tips of his shoes almost touching the tips of Cash's feet.

"It means I'm not done with you yet," Singer says, smiling a little. "Means I still want you and I hope I didn't screw up in all the time it took me to get over myself."

Singer's a little taller than Cash right then because of the way Cash is leaning against his desk. He looks up at Singer. "Are you sure about that?"

Singer doesn't hesitate before he nods, before he says, "Yes, I am." Cash smiles a little, tension slipping out of his shoulders. He slumps a little bit. "But," Singer says, face screwing up, "you totally lied about being a vegetarian. That's not cool."

It surprises a bark of laughter from Cash and he bends over a little from the force of it. Singer grins widely, looking pleased, and Cash can't hold back anymore. He has to reach out, pull Singer between his legs by his hands wrapped around Singer's biceps. Singer goes willingly, allows Cash to wrap him up in a hug that's almost too tight to be nice. Singer hugs him back, pressing his face to Cash's shoulder, pressing as close as possible.

"I'm fucking glad you got over yourself," Cash says and Singer laughs, tries to squeeze tighter, which is mostly impossible at this point.

"So am I," Singer says. He rubs his thumb behind Cash's ear, pulls back enough to look at him, smile at him. Cash tucks a hand into Singer's back pocket, pressing him a tiny bit closer.

Singer cups Cash's cheek, thumb rubbing across Cash's bottom lip like he had when they'd still been in bed together. He glance up at Cash, then back down at his mouth.

"Can I see?" he whispers, thumb pushing down a little bit, and Cash gets it.

He doesn't nod, just parts his lips, allows his fangs to come down. He can hear the way Singer's heart stutters as he sees them, but he doesn't tense, and he doesn't pull away. He rubs the pad of his finger over fang, lightly across the tip, and it's weird, but Cash lets him do it.

Singer frowns, expression turning determined all of sudden. "Leave them," he mumbles, glancing up at Cash quickly and then he bends forward and brushes his lips against Cash's carefully. Cash doesn't move at all. Singer's hand slides down to the side of his neck, them sweeping back and forth as if Cash was the one that needed calming just then, as if it were Cash's heart that was racing.

The kiss is almost too light to be considered a kiss. Then Singer parts Cash's lips with his tongue, tracing his bottom lip before tentatively sliding it past Cash's fangs to rub against Cash's tongue. Cash still doesn't move, allows Singer to kiss him slowly, only letting his hand on Singer's ass squeeze a little.

Singer pulls back, breath a little faster. He wipes away the wetness on Cash's bottom lip, licks his own lips for a moment. Then he presses their foreheads together, laughing a little under his breath.

Cash retracts his fangs then bites his lip to stop it from tingling. It doesn't. He slips a hand under Singer's t-shirt, rubbing over the warm, smooth skin of his lower back.

"Okay?" he asks.

Singer nods, licking his lips again. "Definitely," he says, and kisses Cash once more.

 

\--

 

William doesn’t give Cash another ultimatum until well after the point where Singer comes over one night and just doesn’t leave.

Cash has gotten used to sleeping beside Singer and not wanting to take a bite out of him when he first wakes up. Everyone seems to be silently impressed because, “Even I couldn’t do that with Marshall,” Ian says, kicking his feet over the armrest of the couch.

Cash just looks at him and says, “I know, dude, I was the one who set you up in the cellar.”

“You slept in a cellar?” Singer asks, scrunching up his nose.

Marshall drops down on the other side of the couch and pushes Ian up so he can settle his thigh beneath his head and push his fingers into Ian’s hair. Ian practically purrs under the attention. “Our past is a sordid one,” Marshall says as way of explanation. 

Singer mostly just shrugs and brings his feet up under him. Cash rubs lightly at his upper arm and drops a kiss to the top of his head. They all stay like that for a while before William pushes through the front door yelling over his shoulder at Gabriel that, “I hate this hell-hole and I hate that place. This city is a cesspool.” Everyone is looking at them by the time Gabriel closes the door and takes his hat off. William eyes Singer. “Don’t you ever leave,” it’s not a question.

Singer drops his eyes only to catch Ian’s before Ian sits up and turns to face William over the back of the couch. “Who pissed on your parade?”

William scowls at Ian while pointing at Singer. “He’s always here. Fucking humans, like a goddamned disease.”

“Hey,” Cash snaps, sitting up straighter while Singer burrows down into his side. “What the hell?”

Gabriel grabs William by the arm and shakes him a little. “They didn’t mean anything by it,” Gabriel hisses. “They have no way of knowing.” William slaps Gabriel’s hand away from him and storms off down the hall, slamming their bedroom door behind him.

The room is tense until Gabriel flops down beside Marshall and rubs at his eyes, elbows propped up on his thighs.

“What happened?” Ian asks, sitting up now.

Gabriel sighs heavily and scrubs at his face again. “Some fucking guy in this club made some comment about William being pale and it just snowballed from there. William thinks he’s knows now.” Gabriel gives Cash a look. “He wants us to leave.”

Cash is suddenly very aware of how stiff and cold Singer feels under his arm. “You’re leaving?” Singer asks quietly. “All of you?”

Gabriel sighs and Marshall turns to Singer, giving him an apologetic look. “We go where he goes.”

Singer doesn’t even bother to ask why. Cash is sure he has an idea, he’s told him about their history, but he’s sure it makes no sense to him, why they all have to stick together, why they’re all driven to stay with William. Cash rubs at his arm again and stands. “Come on, we’re gonna go out.”

“It’s almost sunup,” Ian says quietly.

“I’ll take that chance.”

Singer stops him. “He’s right, it’s like six in the morning.” Cash sighs.

“This is so much bullshit. Where does he want to go?”

Gabriel holds his hands open. “I have no idea, he hasn’t decided yet.” He hesitates and Cash waits, stomach sinking, knowing what’s coming. “There’s no point in beating around the bush here; William wants you to turn him or leave him behind.”

“What?” Singer asks, eyebrows drawing together. Cash can smell his fear, the way his anxiety goes through the roof.

Without another word, Cash pulls Singer away, into his bedroom and sits him down on the bed before kneeling between his thighs. It’s not like they haven’t talked about this, given it thought, almost done it once or twice, but, “He’ll change his mind. He’ll stay.”

Cash knows Singer knows it’s a lie. Singer’s been around long enough to hear stories and see William when he gets determined about something.

“He won’t,” Singer says, rubbing at Cash’s neck when he puts his head down on Singer’s thigh.

It’s a long time before Cash can make himself say, “I won’t ask you to.”

Singer’s, “I know,” is delayed.

“I won’t,” Cash mumbles.

Singer pulls him up until he’s able to kiss him, hold his face in both hands and trail his tongue over Cash’s lips. “I know,” Singer repeats.


End file.
